Seven Times Quentin gave Eliot that Good Dick
Ain't No Party like a QCT Party because a QCT Party TOPS
(Closed, Moderated)
Recent works
-
VII: you said I could have anything I wanted (but I just couldn’t say it out loud) by stormcoming
Fandoms: The Magicians (TV)
14 Dec 2020
Tags
Summary
“Hey, um. Can we—” Quentin just about manages to stop the words ‘can we talk’ from leaving his mouth, pivoting to a sort of high-pitched squawk and then landing regrettably on, “So I really love everything we do, you know—in bed.” He winces. It isn’t the worst thing he could’ve said, but definitely could’ve gone smoother and it’s far from the opener he’d planned.
“I just, uh, wanted to let you know that…” Ugh. All of the websites said to keep things flirty and light-hearted, something Quentin knows he’s incapable of, so what is he doing?
Quentin’s always found talking about sex pretty fucking awkward, even though he and Eliot have been together for nearly a decade. When he enlists the help of a sex magic spell, it takes their relationship to some unexpected places.
-
Tags
Summary
As far as excuses went, it was far from convincing. Quentin would know, he was the reigning king of deluding oneself. So maybe this was more the Penny Julia saw, still the worst but...“You—you’re seriously an asshole. But you’re...not really that bad, are you?”
“Honestly I’m just tired of watching you putz around like a limp nutsack. Just fucking talk to him, man."
He wouldn't. He probably wouldn't.
Quentin sunk a little, knowing he really should. “Okay...um...thanks.”
"Yeah, sure." Penny shrugged, like acknowledging that they'd almost had a real conversation was beneath him. Which, it probably was. But for a moment, Quentin could at least pretend. That Julia really hadn't sent Penny, that there was a chance in hell Eliot could actually want him back, that he'd have the nerve to ask. Hell, Penny was right. If he was just going to tear himself apart either way, what did he have to lose?
-
Tags
Summary
He’s willing, he thinks, to live in the frenzied path of this life where they’re both struggling again, rearranging the parts of it so quickly that he can barely hold onto the images that whip past him. He wonders what he’ll remember of this time when he’s old. Maybe just the shifting expressions of Quentin’s face, solemn and concerned, openly adoring when he looks at Eliot, lit from within with wonder when he perfects a spell or reads to Teddy before bed. Solstice memories might not stick (God, he hopes—he hopes he gets to keep that as he ages—or if they ever go back home), but some of these things will remain clear. He can only hope.
Series
- Part 2 of a panoply of song
-
Tags
Summary
Quentin, as a general rule, was not a big fan of parties. He showed up, he hung on Eliot’s arm for a bit, drank something fruity, and either escaped upstairs or sat in the nook with a friend. But something told him this one was shaping up to be something special.
-
Tags
Summary
Eliot’s never seen Quentin like this before, every movement and expression deliberate. It still looks like his normal blend of fidgeting and insecurity, but it’s not, it’s something entirely new, and Quentin is fucking good at it. Despite all appearances, he’s perfectly in control, and Eliot’s hedge king costume pants were not designed to accommodate the reaction he’s having.