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Eliot is enjoying a lazy Saturday at Margo's apartment, wondering if he should try to get anything done today, when Margo shoos him out.
"Alright, babe, you've gotta go," she says. "I've got a step class in twenty, and the last time I was late I got stuck in the back corner that smells like a fish died inside a basket of rotten eggs."
Eliot pouts. "How long's the class? I can drop you off, and then we can get tapas after."
Margo shakes her head, looking frazzled. "I can't, I've got plans tonight."
Now this is news to him. "Plans? What plans?"
"Sometimes I make plans that don't involve you," she says, disappearing into her room and shutting the door most of the way.
"Hmm," he says, considering. "Sexy plans?"
"You know, it all depends on what you'd call sexy," she calls back.
Eliot's about to start listing out a number of things that he'd call sexy, but his thought is interrupted by a knock on the door. "I'll get it," he calls out. He's already got the door open by the time Margo stumbles out of her room, telling him not to answer.
"Eliot!" comes a bright voice, and Eliot shifts his bewildered look from the weirdly urgent Margo to the person in the doorway.
"What the fuck?" He turns back toward Margo. "Todd?"
"Yeah, Todd's in my step class. And he's early," she says very pointedly.
Eliot frowns, giving Todd a onceover. He's definitely not dressed for exercise in his poorly-fitting jeans and Lord of the Rings shirt. Belatedly, Todd tries to tuck his pile of books and papers and some weird box behind his back. "You do a lot of research during step class?"
Margo sighs in defeat. "Fine. There's no step class. Todd, get your ass in here before Fiona gets out."
"So what's this really about?" Eliot asks, following her into her kitchen and automatically helping as she starts laying snacks out on platters.
"Dungeons and Dragons," she says, glaring at his delighted laugh. "And before you get all judgy, I'll remind you that I have video evidence of you playing DDR at Dave & Buster's when you were thirteen."
Eliot shrugs. "I get it if you wanna play some nerdy game. But with Todd?"
"He's a necessary evil. Besides," she says, lowering her voice, "it's even easier to fuck with him in character. It can be very therapeutic."
"How many people are involved in this game of yours?" Eliot asks, noting just how many snacks she's putting out.
"Five. Six if you're staying. There's Quentin, he runs the game, and then Todd, Fen, Alice, and me."
"Thanks for the implied invitation, but I think I'll just go for tapas on my own."
Margo fixes him with a dubious look. "You do realize how sad that sounds, right?"
"Says the woman who secretly plays D&D."
"The fact that you still think that's sad even though I do it says a lot about you, El, not me."
Eliot tilts his head in concession. "But Todd, though."
"Stay and meet the others, at least. You might change your tune."
That piques Eliot's interest, so he decides to stay at least long enough to figure out who's got Margo hooked into this hobby.
The next person to arrive is Fen, a ball full of energy who Eliot likes well enough at first, but then she starts talking a mile a minute to Todd, and he has to leave the room to get away from their chatter. He's in the kitchen becoming one with the veggie tray when the next person arrives.
"Sorry," comes a male voice, "I know I always say I'll be here early to set up, and I'm always—"
"On time?" Margo says, cutting him off as Eliot peeks back into the living room. And—damn. Eliot pauses with a carrot halfway up to his mouth, taking in the new arrival. He's an adorably awkward little nerd, hunched in on himself and clutching his messenger bag like a lifeline. But his smile lights up his face, making the room appear brighter as he reaches up to brush his long, silky-looking hair behind his ear.
Eliot stuffs the carrot in his mouth, backing into the kitchen to wipe off his hands and straighten his shirt before entering the living room properly, letting his eyes catch on the cutie like he didn't expect to see him there. "You must be Quentin. Hi, I'm Eliot."
Quentin looks back at him, a little stunned, reaching out to shake his hand with his mouth hanging open a little. This close, Eliot can see he's more toned than he appears at first glance—it's just hidden under a layer of ill-fitting clothing. "Oh! Hi, yeah, I'm, uh, I'm the DM. Quentin. That's me."
Quentin looks to Margo, his mouth snapping shut, his eyes pleading. Margo has mercy on him, explaining, "Eliot is my oldest friend. And this is his first time hearing about D&D outside of Stranger Things, isn't it?"
Eliot rolls his eyes. "I have at least a passing knowledge, thank you. It just seems that despite being Margo's best friend," he says, purposely avoiding 'oldest', "she didn't choose to share it with me. Until today."
"Oh! Well, the more the merrier. I don't exactly have anything prepared—"
"No no no," Margo says, cutting him off and shooting a sharp smile over at Eliot. "He's not playing with us. Eliot thinks he's above such things."
Eliot narrows his eyes at her as Quentin hunches forward again. "I never said that." To Quentin, he adds, "Apparently I have a lot to learn."
Quentin brightens, and Eliot's eyes trace the curve of his lips into a smile. "You're welcome to watch. I can even pull you into a small role if the story works out."
"I've never been able to resist when a cute boy asks me to watch."
Margo rolls her eyes. "Alice just texted that she'll be late, so I guess we can get started whenever."
Eliot pulls up a chair between Quentin and Margo, a little awkwardly placed at the corner, but it seems table space is precious, with all the papers and dice and a large, covered map spread out in the center. Behind Quentin's cardboard shield, there are a number of figures, even more dice, and enough notes to make him look like a conspiracy theorist.
Quentin sets the scene from where they apparently left off—entering a cave in search of a purple diamond that's been stolen from Margo's character—Janet's family vaults. His descriptions are vivid, and he looks even more attractive the more into it he gets. The way he talks with his hands, his eyes lighting up, his expressions exuding confidence—it's all such a turn on. He also keeps pausing to tack on little details for Eliot's benefit, which Eliot can't say he hates, even if five minutes ago he would've said to pretend he's not here.
From the little he knows about Dungeons & Dragons, Eliot expects there to be a lot of nerdy jargon and monsters and fantasy shit, but they spend the first twenty minutes arguing over Todd's character—Wilhelm's decision to wear a crown that perpetually floats him one foot above the ground.
"You won't be complaining if there's some canyon that's impossible to cross, and I can float the rope over and tie it off."
"Unless you're misreading the rules and you still plummet to your death, stopping one foot away from the bottom of the canyon, but still taking fall damage."
Todd turns to Quentin with a betrayed look. "Is that possible?" Quentin merely shrugs, poker face intact.
As they continue to bicker, Eliot leans in toward Quentin. "So is this how it usually goes?"
Quentin cracks a smile. "Pretty much. The first hour of the session is almost always full of nonsense, unless we had to stop in the middle of combat. If I want to move them along, though, I can."
"Oh, really?" Eliot asks, intrigued. "How so?"
It seems to have been the question Quentin was waiting for, because he clears his throat loudly, the table falling silent instantly. "Freya,"—that's Fen's character—"roll a perception check for me."
"Christ, you've done it now," Margo says to Todd.
"19," Fen answers.
Quentin nods, shifting one of his papers to the top of the stack. "You notice the sound of a few pebbles hitting the ground, about six feet behind where you're standing."
"I turn around. Do I see anything?" Quentin shakes his head. Fen's voice trills slightly higher as she continues, "Um, guys? I think something's back here."
There's suddenly an onslaught of chaos as everyone speaks at once, "I put on my goggles!" and "I take the dodge action!" and "I shoot an arrow into the cave!" (that last one from Todd.) Quentin merely grins. "Roll for initiative."
There's a collective groan at the same time as a knock on the door. "That'll be Alice," Margo says, and Eliot volunteers to answer it.
"Sorry I'm late, there was—oh!" says the petite blonde woman when he answers the door. She pushes her glasses up on her nose and checks the number on the door.
"Don't worry, you're in the right place. Alice, right? I'm Eliot," he says, offering a hand. "Your friends just panicked over some pebbles in a cave."
"Sounds about right," she says, shaking his hand. He steps back and she moves past him, heading straight for the kitchen as she asks, "Are you joining us?"
"I'm still being convinced," he admits, hoping his voice doesn't carry. He still isn't sure D&D is his idea of fun, but he wouldn't mind an excuse to see Margo's Dungeon Master again.
Once he rejoins the game room, the map has been uncovered and updated with a number of figures, all standing on a large black spot. He sees Margo glancing back toward her kitchen intently, and a few more pieces fall into place.
"Does the yellow circle around you mean you're floating?" he asks Todd about his figurine.
"No, the tiny piece of cardboard he's on means he's floating," Margo says, pointing with her pen. "The yellow ring means he's suffocating."
"Kinky," he says, raising his eyebrows at Quentin.
"They're also all blinded," Quentin points out as Alice joins them. Eliot watches as Margo shifts further away from him, slightly closer to Alice as she gets settled. They share a smile that tells Eliot quite a lot before focusing back on the map in front of them.
What follows is a hilariously chaotic "battle" where they all describe themselves stumbling around in the dark, Todd's character managing to get the monster off his head long enough to get a breath and shout out the equivalent of "Polo" to his friends' "Marco" before the thing starts suffocating him again.
Ultimately, they wind up defeating the monster by bashing Todd—"Wilhelm"—over the head for five minutes, leaving him pretty damaged as well. The darkness disappears when the monster is dead.
"So," Margo says in her "Janet" voice as Fen figures out how she's going to heal Todd, "how'd that floating one foot off the ground work out for you?"
"I still think it could be useful," Todd grumbles.
Eliot winds up sticking around for their whole three-hour session, occasionally tuning out to check his phone for a few minutes, but always being pulled back in, either by the ridiculous things happening in the game or Quentin's whispered asides, explaining something to him close enough that Eliot can feel his breath against his ear.
"So, what'd you think?" Quentin asks after he officially ends their session and everyone falls into unrelated chatter. "Can we convince you to join?"
"Yeah, Eliot," Margo says, smirking. "See anything you like?"
Eliot pointedly ignores her, favoring Quentin with a smile. "Seems like it could be fun, if you have room for me. And speaking of room," he says, turning toward Margo, "if you're upgrading to six people, Bambi, this table is entirely too small. I've got that monstrosity that Hoberman left behind at my place; why don't I host?"
Margo raises her eyebrows in surprise. "You're inviting a bunch of nerds to invade your sacred space?"
"Ooh, I'd love to see your place," Todd says so enthusiastically that Eliot considers taking it back. One look back at Quentin, though, and he nods.
"We're all nerds about something, right?"
***
The opportunity to get Quentin alone comes remarkably fast when Quentin offers to come over and help him set up his character. Eliot plans ahead, dressing up in his favorite vest and tie combination, and laying out a nice charcuterie board in advance, since snacks seem to be vital to the game.
Quentin is no less adorable than last time, even in his faded henley and jeans. His hair is tucked away in a bun today, which is also unfairly adorable, and does nothing to diminish Eliot's desire to run his hands through his hair.
Eliot tries to make small talk at first, to get to know each other a little more, but Quentin seems laser-focused on the D&D of it all. With a sigh, Eliot gives up his initial attempts, knowing he'll have more chances if his participation in their game works out.
Quentin suggests he play a bard, licking his lips when he points out how 'charismatic' they are. Eliot sits forward, delighted. "You'd like me to be your Prince Charming."
Quentin smiles a little absently, color rising to his cheeks. "Well you definitely can't be a prince. All of the royalty in this campaign are assholes. Like, evil assholes, not just annoying figureheads."
Next, Quentin gives him the highlights of the different races, but when his face lights up describing half-elves, Eliot knows that's what he's going to pick. Apparently, Quentin likes them tall. They spend the next bit of time on numbers, though Eliot pretty much writes down whatever Quentin recommends.
"I thought I could like, run you through an encounter, now that you have your character set up? That way you could get a feel for how it all works without the others getting on your case. Plus it'll give you some experiences to draw on if their characters ask you what you did before you met them or whatever."
"Sure, why not?" Eliot says with his most charming smile. "Why don't I make us a drink first?"
Quentin looks hesitant, but eventually nods. "Just one, though. I don't like to run games without my head on straight."
Eliot takes his time in the kitchen, feeling the need to mix this drink just right. He tries not to stress when he sees how low he is on peach bitters. Halving that part of the mixture won't make that much difference in taste, but he'll know. And they're all nerds about something, aren't they?
"Oh, we still have to give your character a name," Quentin points out when Eliot returns with two White Peach Juleps.
"Anything you recommend?"
"Hmm, well. It's kinda, um, a reference to more than one thing I guess, but… Lance is always good?"
Eliot grins. "Is this an *NSYNC reference?"
Quentin splutters a laugh. "No, actually, that's one reference I wasn't making, but whatever floats your boat. I guess I was thinking more, Lancelot?"
"Interesting. You know, I wrote a paper once on how Lancelot's loyalty to King Arthur was a thin metaphor for unrequited love."
Quentin's eyes light up. "Are you fucking with me? I did a whole thesis on queerness in Arthurian Legend."
Eliot shifts a little in his chair, pleased at both Quentin's enthusiasm and the further evidence of Quentin's own queerness. "Lance it is, then."
"Right," Quentin says, sinking back behind his screen and shuffling notes around. Eliot can still see him blushing. "So um, Lance is a bard, so he mostly makes his living going around telling stories, or singing them, if you prefer."
Eliot sings a couple of lines from Les Mis, smirking when Quentin's eyes fall to his lips.
"Yeah, um," Quentin says, licking his lips, "like that. So you're at the tavern, extolling the tales of Jean Valjean, when a man in a cloak approaches you. What do you do?"
Eliot sits back, letting himself settle into this role. "Depends. What's he look like?"
Quentin smiles and shakes his head. "Well, he's got his hood up. Roll a perception check. That's that one, yeah, and add your perception modifier from the sheet."
Eliot picks up the die in question, rolling it around in his palm before letting it fall to the table. "Twenty plus… two? Twenty two?"
Quentin laughs. "Of course you roll a natural 20 on your first check. Okay, well. He's hot. Really fucking toned, you can tell even with the robe on. A little bit scruffy, like he hasn't shaved in a day or so, but it really shows off his jawline, y'know?"
"Does he have long, silky hair I can just picture my fingers twisting into?" Eliot asks, eyeing Quentin's bun.
"N-no," Quentin says, swallowing. "He keeps it short, actually. But he's looking at you like he might value your opinion on the matter."
This next part comes easy, as Eliot falls into an easy flirtation with Quentin behind the façade of a D&D character. The man, Rupert, has a quest for him, and as Eliot is clearly the best man for the job, he takes it on, laying it on thick that he only entertains offers made in bars if they come from a particular calibre of man.
The quest itself has the two of them fighting monsters side-by-side, but Eliot suspects Quentin is taking it easy on him. When Rupert gets the killing blow again, Eliot huffs and puts on like his character is jealous. "Honestly, if you just wanted to drag me out here as eye candy, I could've saved my spell slots."
"Oh, don't be like that, friend," Quentin says, reaching out to lay his hand over Eliot's. He seems to jump a little when he realizes he's done it, but he quickly clears his throat and keeps going. "I never would've landed that last blow if your well-timed mockery hadn't distracted it."
Eliot rolls his eyes but also turns his hand palm-up. "Fine, but you can stop showing off now. I'm already impressed."
Quentin swallows and, after a moment, pulls his hand back awkwardly, dropping his gaze back to his notes. Eliot itches to reach out for him again.
There's more fighting, and more flirting, and finally they uncover a "Knife of Unusual Sharpness", which was apparently Rupert's goal all along.
"Quentin. Is this 'encounter' gonna be over soon?"
"Pretty soon, yeah. Why?" He checks his watch. "D'you need to be somewhere?"
Eliot shakes his head. "I don't need to be anywhere. Do you?"
"No, I pretty much cleared my day for this."
"So maybe you should stay. After the roleplay," he suggests, leaning forward. He rests his hand halfway between them and sees Quentin's eyes track his movement. "If you're interested."
"No, I'm uh, I'm definitely interested." He laughs a little ruefully. "I should just warn you that I'm like, super fucking awkward when I'm not behind a DM screen."
"Not as awkward as you think," Eliot insists. "Rupert's bravado had to come from somewhere."
Quentin meets his eye. Eliot can feel the weight of their shared gaze down to his toes. "Yeah, okay," Quentin says. "Maybe you can make me another drink."
So Eliot does—a Plum-Basil Gin Fizz, this time—and they move to Eliot's couch, where Quentin tucks himself into a corner, and Eliot sits as close as he dares without spooking Quentin. He gets Quentin talking about what got him into D&D, and soon he's off on a passionate diatribe about modern fantasy and classic fantasy and all his favorite tropes, and Eliot can't help himself, he's utterly charmed.
While Eliot is explaining his own passion for mixology, Quentin reaches up to pull his hair down from its bun. Eliot manages to hold onto his composure and finish his thought, but in the back of his mind, he's completely captivated by how Quentin's hair falls so nicely to frame his face. He reaches out, slowly at first, and when Quentin doesn't jolt away, he tucks a loose strand back behind Quentin's ear.
Quentin seems to sway forward, into his touch, but then he stops himself, tension visible in his body. "I, um, I should probably go."
"So soon? I haven't even tried to kiss you yet."
Quentin bites his lip, studying him for a long time. Eliot feels it's an important moment, so he doesn't say anything further. "Are you messing with me?" Quentin finally asks.
"What?" Eliot says, his laugh breaking up the word into two syllables.
"I don't know, you're like ridiculously hot, this feels a little bit like the prank scene in every teen coming of age movie, except I'm 23 and should know better."
Eliot leans further into Quentin's space, thrilling as his breath hitches. "I mean every move I make," he murmurs, and presses his lips to Quentin's.
The kiss is feather-light at first, barely even a kiss, but Eliot doesn't want to push, not after that display. He parts his lips slightly to press in a little more, to show his intent, and like a switch has been flipped, Quentin presses into him with his lips and chest and hands, threatening to overwhelm Eliot with his sudden enthusiasm. Eliot fits a hand around the back of his neck to hold him in place, tilting his head as he licks deep into Quentin's mouth, earning a moan that he feels reverberating throughout his body. He sinks his fingers—finally—into that silky smooth hair, noting the little gasp of pleasure from Quentin when he accidentally tugs through a tangle.
They break away panting, Quentin halfway in Eliot's lap, both of their lips swollen with the intensity of their kisses. "I hope you believe I'm not 'messing with you' now."
Quentin smiles wistfully, pulling back into his former seat on the couch, tucking his hair back behind his ear. "I'm not normally like this. I mean, the roleplay flirting… Stop smiling!" Quentin says, laughing. "I'm just saying, the way I was as Rupert doesn't come easy for me. My brain doesn't always work right. Sometimes I say dumb shit; I'm nearly always awkward. I just… want you to know what you're getting into."
Eliot reaches out a finger to tip his chin up. "I appreciate the heads up, but trust me. As long as the interest is there, I can deal with whatever awkwardness comes with it."
Quentin licks his lips and then presses forward, sealing their lips together once more. "Yeah, there's definitely interest."
***
Eliot holds himself together when Quentin arrives for their next session. They have a date planned for after everyone leaves, and Eliot has every intention of wining and dining his new DM, but Quentin was pretty clear about not wanting to tell the group yet.
So they focus on the game. Quentin introduces his character as the group returns to the tavern to celebrate their victory from the previous game, and Eliot describes himself holding court in the far corner, singing the epic tales of Elphaba the misunderstood half-orc.
"What's your name, bard?" Margo asks as Janet when he finishes his song.
Eliot pretends to give her a onceover. "It's Lance, dear, but in certain circumstances, I also answer to Daddy."
Margo's eyes shift to Quentin, dropping her Janet persona. "Let me guess, you had him meet Rupert."
Quentin blushes brightly, much to Eliot's delight. "Rupert was the obvious choice! It gives him an in to meet you guys after the cave, and I've been wanting to flesh out how he got his hands on that knife."
"Mmhmm," Margo says, giving him a long look, then sliding her piercing gaze back to Eliot. With a quirk of his eyebrow, he confirms her suspicion that something is going on between him and Quentin. What he doesn't know is what Rupert has to do with that.
Margo waits until Todd has sufficiently distracted Quentin a minute later to lean over and confide, "Rupert and Lance are love interests in his favorite fantasy series."
Eliot raises his eyebrows, his eyes sliding easily back to Quentin. "Is that so? Well, I do enjoy making fantasies come true."