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Quentin loved to watch Eliot practice his hand tuts. It didn’t happen very often, flawless talent and all that (insert eyeroll here)
You don’t have to mess with perfection Q you should know that, Eliot would click his tongue, but continue his movements; every once and awhile glancing at his textbook for the proper poper and finger alignment.
If Alice was there she would remark about how that’s the wrong position, that finger should go there. Eliot would just roll his eyes and continue to immaculately perform beautiful spells.
Quentin would just sit there and stare at him, sitting across the room with a half finished cup of tea to his side and a Fillory book haphazardly strewn on his lap.
It took a lot to make Quentin feel safe, but El always did. It didn’t matter that their lives were shit, and falling apart every other day. They would try to be normal for as long as possible, fucking pretend if they had to.
But through it all Q couldn’t believe how lucky he was. He honestly thought nothing good would happen to him, lord knows enough hospital visits fucked his mind up; but Eliot accepted him for his shit, as a friend, partner, lover whatever life threw their way.
Eliot was beautiful to Q. He knew how the magician felt about himself and he was determined to love him inspite of his so called flaws and even more so to make up for Eliot’s lack of self love.
“I love myself plenty you adorably naive peach.” Eliot would mock him, usually entangling his long legs with Q’s on one of the many physical cottage couches, worn from thousands of asses and one too many parties. For such a tall lanky man, he could curl himself into such a ball around Quentin, not like he was actually complaining.
But Quentin knew El better than most people. Fifty years would do that to a person. He was determined to make Eliot recognize that he loved him for everything. He was adorable, fashionable and real, and Q loved him flaws and all.
Usually during these “practice sessions” Eliot would “ignore” Quentin. You’re just too cute Q and you distract me, your fault go, run along, and go sit over there. Quite literally shooing Q to the other side of the room.
So he would slip away from the focusing fashionista and hop onto their pillow strewn, soft fleecy blanket covered bed and watch El at the desk, trying and failing to concentrate on something that wasn’t Eliot’s hands. Those long elegant fingers bending, turning, twisting, creating exquisite magic for his and Quentin’s eyes only.
Before long, and without his own knowledge he would be moving across the room towards the man exuding pure fabulousness. Slowly he would touch him; it would start with his fingertips on El’s shoulder, soon his hand was cuppjng the back of his neck.
He would continue to “ignore” him, but Q knew the other man was aware of him. He tried not to be “distracting” just enjoy the warmth radiating from El’s skin. He always loved touching Eliot, one of his favorite pastimes.
The shifting hand tuts distracted him for awhile, “your ring finger needs to cross your middle there” he mumbled quietly.
“Shh you heathen, I don’t need your chicanery.” Eliot would declare, however Q noticed he made the corrections that he mentioned, trying to do it sneakily to get away with it.
Quentin scratched a little at the base of El’s scalp, letting the magician know he wasn’t fooled. Eliot just hummed at him and subtly pushed his head into Quentin’s hand and chest. He couldn’t help himself, Quentin pressed his front again Eliot’s back firmly, just wanting to be closer to him.
“El, can we..can we go downstairs or do something else please.” Not that he actually wanted to leave their room, honestly he would rather stay in bed for the rest of the day, work on card tricks, mumble random gossip, or just be in each other auras.
Honestly he just wanted the man’s chocolate brown eyes on him and only him, Q couldn’t help it, he was greedy like that.
“I’m almost done, hush please.” El scoffed his response not unkindly, but pressed his back firmly into Quentin’s scratchy oversized sweater.
Poper after poper, those long fingers gracefully flew threw the movements. Hands that could be absolutely ruthless and oh so gentle, hands that loved all of Quentin.
Q slowly wrapped his left arm around Eliot’s shoulders, relishing in the silkiness of his plum colored vest and crisp dress shirt. Always impeccably dressed, “never a disaster on the outside kitten come on.” He couldn’t help the slight roll of his eyes.
He lowered his face to Eliot’s dark chestnut curls, nosed into them and breathed deeply, smelling his shampoo and product. He let his fingers tangle in the wild mess as he continued to scratch a little.
He wasn’t trying to distract him per se, Q just couldn’t stop touching his well dressed mess of a man and simply wanted his attention always, can’t blame him right, who wouldn’t? He tightened his embrace just a little, humming a random tune as he zoned out.
He must have drifted more than he realized, before he knew it, Eliot was pulling his left arm over his shoulder to shift him into the larger man’s lap. “There now you impatient imp, all you had to do was wait.” Eliot’s deep timbered voice mumbled behind Quentin’s ear as he nosed along his collar.
He couldn’t help pressing into the man’s chest, wanting to be as close to him as possible. “I couldn’t help it, you just distract me so easily.” Quentin smirked as he situated himself with a leg on either side of Eliot’s thighs. He wrapped his arms around El’s shoulders and left feather light kisses along his scruffy jaw. His smirk widened as he continued his minute scratches and Eliot all but purred.
“Sure sure Q, I’m the distracting one.” It was quiet, but he heard Eliot whisper it across his cheek before those loving hands, that make Quentin feel so safe, were cupping his face gently and pressing his soft lips to Q’s chapped ones (which Eliot honestly didn’t care about).
It was a sweet innocent kiss, lord knows their kisses could get out of hand and quickly, but it held so much in it. So much of their history and shared feelings.
Life was absolute shit for them and their friends. Beasts, Gods, the fuckin library,and stupid ass quests that may or may not have happened. It doesn’t matter. As Quentin squeezed his legs, feeling the crisp material of Eliot’s slacks on his boxer clad thighs and tilted his head, deepening the kiss he realized none of it mattered.
After all the bullshit in their lives, and all the experience they had, why waste that kind of proof of concept in not doing anything.
So what if they were both fucked up, they could fuck up together and that’s how it would stay. He would waste away time like this, in Eliot’s lap, those wonderful fingers drawing aimless pictures on his back, Quentin was pretty sure if he concentrated he could see the mosaic designs in those skilled fingers on his fraying sweater. He shook his head absently.
“I love you El.” Quentin mumbled into his shoulder as he laid his face there, getting comfy in his man’s lap. Eliot just wrapped his long well dressed arms around Q’s scrawny shoulders and chuckled.
“Well of course you do Quentin my dear, who in their right mind wouldn’t?” He dropped a few kisses to Q’s head. “Peaches and plums motherfucker.” Eliot breathed as he leaned back in the desk chair a little, making sure Q went nowhere in his current seat.
Quentin snuffed out a laughed and snuggled closer, yeah fifty years was enough for him to finally give up, take a damn break, and allow himself to breathe. These moments may not come around very often, but when they did Q would make sure to allow himself to take step aside from the path he was on, breathe, and enjoy the time giving to him and his other half, his damn soulmate.