Eliot swallows, the line of his throat bobbing, keeps his eyes on the ceiling. “Q,” he says. His voice sounds weird. “It’s okay,” Quentin says. “You don’t have to - it’s okay. This is good, this is -” enough, he’s going to say, because Eliot’s hand in his, Eliot next to him on this soft bed, both of them breathing, it’s enough, it’s more than enough; but then Eliot rolls towards him, fast, presses his face down onto Quentin’s shoulder, and he’s breathing hard again, shuddering, almost gasping, like he can’t catch his breath -
Re: FILL: Real - Queliot - Eliot-centric fluff/HC
Eliot swallows, the line of his throat bobbing, keeps his eyes on the ceiling. “Q,” he says. His voice sounds weird.
“It’s okay,” Quentin says. “You don’t have to - it’s okay. This is good, this is -” enough, he’s going to say, because Eliot’s hand in his, Eliot next to him on this soft bed, both of them breathing, it’s enough, it’s more than enough; but then Eliot rolls towards him, fast, presses his face down onto Quentin’s shoulder, and he’s breathing hard again, shuddering, almost gasping, like he can’t catch his breath -
THIS BIT KILLED ME