[For someone who'd carefully and artfully crafted every perspective of their life to look exactly the way it did, Quentin certainly like to throw curve balls into Eliot's perfectly coiffed life. Eliot held no sanctions for real emotions or attachments beyond Margo and his Bambi was a very different story. She'd been his secret keeper and mainstay since their freshman year.
Why was it when this freshman looked at him through the shaft of his hair, did Eliot's stomach and more clench in a very ungentlemanly manner. Oh fucking well. Tonight was about debauchery at its finest, and they were about to enjoy being debauched together.]
I could easily call you something else if you prefer, Q. It was merely what rolled off the tongue easily. You really are so sensitive. [He teased and leaned over across the couch to run a finger along skin that had no right to be so damn soft. Tracing Quentin's cheek, and then the side of his neck, he let his digit wander all the way down the male's clothed chest and then rest on his thigh, where it met the rest of Eliot's fingers and they squeezed.]
I could tell you what they all meant, but then I'd have to kill you. [He said in a hush, but then burst out laughing as he often did at the expense of his own stupid jokes.] I don't actually know this time around. I didn't make these. My signature is cocktails. Jello is a little below my grade, but it sure is fun.
continued from here [It was a mask, Eliot was fake and he knew it. How many layers would Quentin have to slave through to find the reality beyond the man who this one had made. It was a serious disaster in the making and worthy of a few more bottles of alcohol once it became a thought preserved on a thimble in the back of Eliot's sorely addled mind. Even now he had time to worry through such things.
Even now, with the most beloved thing in his universe clinging to his being, whispering promises through their kisses, words that would never need to be spoken lest these tangling of liquid covenants meant nothing, he worries. What would Quentin think of the man behind it all should he ever be discovered; could the charades be kept up forever.
Tangled up limbs and lips, Eliot buries himself against his own shrine, the temple of worship he will never cease to lay himself outside of. There's no orbit where their stars wouldn't have fallen together, or collided into one giant black hole pulling everyone and everything into a disaster of their own making.
Hands climb Quentin's sides, and he makes a mess of it, raising up the other man's shirt in the middle of the hallway, when all Eliot meant to do was try and find a form of skin. Any form of skin would have sufficed, but he needed to touch something beyond cloth when he felt so hungry, so deft of mind and purpose. This was his man now and he wanted to make sure that there was no doubt of that in any world. ]
Mine. Noot hers. yes? So much mine. Quentin...
[There's a gasp in his lungs, a step where his heart stops as he considers how close he came to losing the game, losing the man he loved to the queen of darkness, the black void that might have sucked Quentin's soul away from him. Then what would he have?]
Clint lets himself take a moment to press back against Eliot, letting him touch everywhere on his body. They both know where this is heading, so having a little tease like this is even better. He tilts his neck for Eliot to explore. "Just a little further. I have a fire pit and a sauna, and outdoor furniture. We're good." He stays there for another moment and then finally pulls away, leading Eliot to his door and unlocking it. He steps aside to let the other man in first and then follows after him, leaning back against the door invitingly and clicking on the lights.
"Nothin' special but it's home," Clint says. "Come on, let's go out to the patio." He leads Eliot through the apartment and motions to the door. He'll grab the beer and head out right after him.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
@ repairofsmallobjects
[For someone who'd carefully and artfully crafted every perspective of their life to look exactly the way it did, Quentin certainly like to throw curve balls into Eliot's perfectly coiffed life. Eliot held no sanctions for real emotions or attachments beyond Margo and his Bambi was a very different story. She'd been his secret keeper and mainstay since their freshman year.
Why was it when this freshman looked at him through the shaft of his hair, did Eliot's stomach and more clench in a very ungentlemanly manner. Oh fucking well. Tonight was about debauchery at its finest, and they were about to enjoy being debauched together.]
I could easily call you something else if you prefer, Q. It was merely what rolled off the tongue easily. You really are so sensitive. [He teased and leaned over across the couch to run a finger along skin that had no right to be so damn soft. Tracing Quentin's cheek, and then the side of his neck, he let his digit wander all the way down the male's clothed chest and then rest on his thigh, where it met the rest of Eliot's fingers and they squeezed.]
I could tell you what they all meant, but then I'd have to kill you. [He said in a hush, but then burst out laughing as he often did at the expense of his own stupid jokes.] I don't actually know this time around. I didn't make these. My signature is cocktails. Jello is a little below my grade, but it sure is fun.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
no subject
[It was a mask, Eliot was fake and he knew it. How many layers would Quentin have to slave through to find the reality beyond the man who this one had made. It was a serious disaster in the making and worthy of a few more bottles of alcohol once it became a thought preserved on a thimble in the back of Eliot's sorely addled mind. Even now he had time to worry through such things.
Even now, with the most beloved thing in his universe clinging to his being, whispering promises through their kisses, words that would never need to be spoken lest these tangling of liquid covenants meant nothing, he worries. What would Quentin think of the man behind it all should he ever be discovered; could the charades be kept up forever.
Tangled up limbs and lips, Eliot buries himself against his own shrine, the temple of worship he will never cease to lay himself outside of. There's no orbit where their stars wouldn't have fallen together, or collided into one giant black hole pulling everyone and everything into a disaster of their own making.
Hands climb Quentin's sides, and he makes a mess of it, raising up the other man's shirt in the middle of the hallway, when all Eliot meant to do was try and find a form of skin. Any form of skin would have sufficed, but he needed to touch something beyond cloth when he felt so hungry, so deft of mind and purpose. This was his man now and he wanted to make sure that there was no doubt of that in any world. ]
Mine. Noot hers. yes? So much mine. Quentin...
[There's a gasp in his lungs, a step where his heart stops as he considers how close he came to losing the game, losing the man he loved to the queen of darkness, the black void that might have sucked Quentin's soul away from him. Then what would he have?]
Please never leave me.. never again...
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
no subject
Clint lets himself take a moment to press back against Eliot, letting him touch everywhere on his body. They both know where this is heading, so having a little tease like this is even better. He tilts his neck for Eliot to explore. "Just a little further. I have a fire pit and a sauna, and outdoor furniture. We're good." He stays there for another moment and then finally pulls away, leading Eliot to his door and unlocking it. He steps aside to let the other man in first and then follows after him, leaning back against the door invitingly and clicking on the lights.
"Nothin' special but it's home," Clint says. "Come on, let's go out to the patio." He leads Eliot through the apartment and motions to the door. He'll grab the beer and head out right after him.
(no subject)
(no subject)