[ His hand resettles, finding a comfortable, more natural position, fingers slipping through Quentin’s hair to hold him steady as they kiss.
When Quentin doesn’t withdraw, Eliot kisses again. And again. And again. And then he realizes that Quentin is being an idiot and holding his breath so he hums and draws back because kisses are great but breathing and not dying is better.
His eyes open, and his grip loosens, enough to let Quentin pull away if he wants to but not enough to really let go.
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When Quentin doesn’t withdraw, Eliot kisses again. And again. And again. And then he realizes that Quentin is being an idiot and holding his breath so he hums and draws back because kisses are great but breathing and not dying is better.
His eyes open, and his grip loosens, enough to let Quentin pull away if he wants to but not enough to really let go.
Your move, Quentin. ]