[ Eliot's eyelids flutter anticipating that Quentin will kiss him again, but when he realizes Q is too scared to, he simply smiles softly, thumb rubbing the side of his neck affectionately, trying to coax him the rest of the way there (he'll have to since Eliot is lying back, and he doesn't plan on pulling down on Quentin's neck to try and close the gap).
For now, there's no rush though. They have time. Even in the mess of everything they still have to deal with, there's time right here and now, and it's their's, even if nothing more happens.
Even just the one means the world to Eliot in a way he doesn't dare attempt to give words. ]
[ Quentin takes that hint and runs with it--that's all he needs, to be nudged--and he's back to kissing Eliot again, trying to quiet his mind. He doesn't need to overthink the one thing that's made him happy in a very, very long time.
His touch is light, still in Eliot's hair, combing through the curls, bottle teetering on his knee from where he's only half-heartedly holding it. Let him drop it if things get too insane--who cares? The only thing he's focusing on is Eliot. ]
[ He sighs through his nose as their lips meet again, and Eliot's hand curls against the curve of Quentin's head as it wanders further up, holding the other magician fast. He lets his lips guide, Quentin clearly anxious about doing the wrong thing. But there are no mistakes here. All Eliot needs is Quentin, and that he already has.
The kisses are slow, as conscious as they are curious. For even as much as he doesn't want to frighten his best friend off by pushing things too far too quickly, he also wants to show him how wonderfully fantastic something as simple as kissing can be. Eliot tastes and prods, playful but never mocking. ]
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For now, there's no rush though. They have time. Even in the mess of everything they still have to deal with, there's time right here and now, and it's their's, even if nothing more happens.
Even just the one means the world to Eliot in a way he doesn't dare attempt to give words. ]
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His touch is light, still in Eliot's hair, combing through the curls, bottle teetering on his knee from where he's only half-heartedly holding it. Let him drop it if things get too insane--who cares? The only thing he's focusing on is Eliot. ]
no subject
The kisses are slow, as conscious as they are curious. For even as much as he doesn't want to frighten his best friend off by pushing things too far too quickly, he also wants to show him how wonderfully fantastic something as simple as kissing can be. Eliot tastes and prods, playful but never mocking. ]