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magicianskinkmeme2021-06-06 11:42 am
shmaz) wrote in magicianskinkmeme2021-06-06 11:42 am
Entry tags:
Round #2, June 2021
Rules:
1. Golden rule: YKINMKATO.
2. Book spoilers must be clearly tagged in post titles.
3. All comments must be anonymous.
4. Please title your prompt posts. All prompts are welcome, from fluff to angst to smut.
5. Fills must be posted as a response to the original prompt (links to AO3 etc are allowed) & must have "FILL" in the title.
6. Multiple fills for the same prompt are allowed and welcomed.
7. Content warnings will not be enforced but are appreciated.
8. Please wait until the next round to repost a prompt.
Is it a zombie apocalypse? Perhaps a Season 5 resurrection AU? No, it's the revival of the Magicians Kinkmeme -- we're back for Round #2, baby!
Please hop over to the mod post if you have any questions. When you fill a prompt, please feel free to link to it in the fills post so that others can easily find it.
Have fun, get weird and be kind to each other!
Queliot - Shotgunning
(Anonymous) 2021-06-07 12:20 am (UTC)(link)FILL: Queliot - Shotgunning
(Anonymous) 2021-06-07 11:58 pm (UTC)(link)Quentin startles from the lounge chair he’s curled up on—it’s cold outside on the patio, but he’s kinda drunk and sleepy and it hasn’t been cold enough to get up. He turns to find Eliot leaning against the doorway, sleeves rolled up and tie undone. Quentin’s mouth both waters and feels dry all at once. Eliot done up in all his sartorial glory is something to behold, for sure, but Quentin feels special, somehow, being allowed to see him like this—a little less perfect, but beautiful just the same.
It probably isn’t special to Eliot, since he hooks up with boys left right and center at the end of most parties, and he’s probably getting at least somewhat naked during said hookups and—
Anyway.
While Quentin thought-spiraled, Eliot made his way over to the chair next to him and produced a joint.
“Hey, uh, Eliot,” Quentin says, inwardly wincing at his awkwardly late greeting. Smooth. “Is the party over, or…?”
Eliot lights the joint with an elegant gesture and takes a deep drag. Quentin emphatically does not look at his lips. Eliot meets his eyes and smiles like Quentin’s said something charming, and not, like, totally banal.
“It’s winding down a bit, but I wanted to find you,” he says lightly.
“You did?” Why?
Eliot lets out a small laugh, again like Quentin had said something clever—Quentin desperately wants to know what Eliot is actually feeling, rather than his own hopeful projections—and simply says, “Yes. I wanted to hang out with you.”
As if that were something people said to Quentin, much less people like Eliot.
“Oh,” Quentin says, a bit stupidly, “Well. Here I am.” Cringe. Eliot has got to be regretting his decision now. Quentin’s not sure if he wishes he were more sober or more drunk—his ability to interact smoothly with other human beings seems to be at the universe’s whim, and doesn’t seem to follow any discernible pattern.
Eliot takes another drag, slowly exhales, and makes a gesture that molds the smoke into a complex pattern of smoke rings. “You want a hit?” he says, finally breaking the silence.
Maybe, but I mostly want your dick, Quentin thinks wildly and thankfully does not say aloud. Instead what comes out is, “Um, maybe not, if it’s strong? I’m kinda drunk and it’s not, uh, a great time if I get too crossed.”
Something in Eliot’s expression seems a little disappointed. “Ah, yeah, this is one of Hoberman’s. He doesn’t do anything but strong.”
Eliot’s probably going to go back inside and find someone else to hang out with or hook up with and—Quentin panicks, and then blurts out, “Maybe we could shotgun it instead?”
He’s not sure where that came from. He’s not even sure if that would do anything regarding the, like, potency of the joint but. He just wants Eliot to stay a little while longer.
Eliot raises his eyebrows, a grin slowly spreading across his face. “You sure, Coldwater?”
Maybe this was a bad idea. Inviting Eliot’s mouth into his personal space and not leaning forward to kiss him seems like an insane tightrope that kinda-drunk Quentin is not equipped to take on.
“Yeah I’m sure, come on.”
Eliot scoots his chair over and motions for Quentin to do the same, and motions him again when Quentin scoots his chair only the smallest bit closer. “You’re going to make me strain my neck if you’re sitting that far away,” Eliot laughs.
“What’s that long ass neck even for, then?” Quentin shoots back, grinning as he moves as close as he can. Eliot might be beautiful and otherworldly and completely out of his league, but it’s still surprisingly easy to be with him.
Their laughter dies down. The night feels warm. Eliot is looking into his eyes, seemingly searching for something. Quentin shifts, and tries to give Eliot an out, just in case. “Hey, uh, we don’t have to if—if you don’t want,” he says.
“No, no,” Eliot finally says, “Hoberman is a master of his craft. It’s a must.”
Quentin nods and tries to discreetly wipe his sweaty palms on his ratty jeans as Eliot re-lights the joint, and takes a hit. Quentin leans closer, their knees now in between each other’s, sets a steadying hand on Eliot’s armrest.
Eliot leans in and just before exhaling, gently places his hand on the back of Quentin’s neck. The sight of Eliot’s hooded eyes with smudged eyeliner, the warmth of his face so close to his, makes Quentin’s eyes slide shut as he inhales the smoke from Eliot’s lips. He wants to savor this. It feels childish, but he wants to hold onto that one time that Eliot Waugh almost kissed me.
Quentin comes back to himself when he realizes Eliot is still clasping his neck. He shivers, but doesn’t back away. When his eyes open, Eliot begins to draw back, but as his hand slides off, Quentin grabs his wrist without thinking and holds him there. The corners of Eliot’s lips quirk up along with one of his eyebrows in a question.
There doesn’t seem to be an innocent explanation for why he just—held on to Eliot’s wrist, keeping his hand on his neck, not one that he can think of right now anyway, and before the moment is gone, his hindbrain says—
Time to jump off the tightrope.
“I, um—“ Quentin starts, but he abruptly shuts his mouth in favor of closing the space between them and pressing a firm but chaste kiss on Eliot’s lips. Before pulling back, Quentin says a silent wistful goodbye to their friendship, which has surely gone up in flames just now. It was nice while it lasted.
Quentin lets go of Eliot’s arm before meeting his eyes and shrugging a little like, well, there you go.
The self-deprecating thoughts reflexively cycle through his head—Way to stick the landing! Nice job, Coldwater! Time to drop out of Brakebills, change your name, and disappear off the grid!—but Quentin can’t find it in himself to really regret it. He’s wanted to since he saw Eliot lounging on the sign on that first day, and Eliot still hasn’t recoiled in disgust, so. All in all, not the worst kiss he’s inflicted on someone. (He sends a silent apology to Sarah Cheng from 3rd grade).
Eliot, in fact, is furrowing his brow and smiling in soft, pleased disbelief. With his eyes trained on Quentin’s face, Eliot stubs out the still-smoking joint and brings his other hand up to Quentin’s bicep. His thumb gently pets over his sleeve.
“It’s like that, huh?” he asks. There’s a pleasant rasp to his voice that makes Quentin’s stomach flip.
“Yeah. I’ve wanted to do that for forever,” Quentin forces himself to say. He doesn’t want Eliot to think it was just a drunken impulse, that Quentin is looking to just be one of Eliot’s boys for a night. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. If that’s what’s on offer, Quentin will take it in a heartbeat. But—he wants more. He always wants more.
“Shotgunning? Weird thing to have on your bucket list,” Eliot murmurs. Quentin knows him well enough that he’s trying to deflect, trying to give him an out. He sets his jaw, steels himself, and says, “No, you asshole, and I know you know it. I’ve wanted to kiss you since I first saw you.”
The silence stretches longer and longer, but Eliot doesn’t take his hands back. Quentin shifts uncomfortably, but a part of him feels like this might be a pivotal moment—he can’t back down.
“And now?” Eliot finally asks, quietly. There’s something new in his voice—vulnerability, Quentin thinks, or fear. Quentin suddenly feels a surge of protectiveness. He wants to cradle Eliot’s heart gently in his hands. Dramatic, maybe, but true nonetheless.
“I’d like to kiss you again,” Quentin says. “Like, right now, but also, um, tomorrow. And the day after that, if you’re open to it. And, you know, so on and so forth. Not just kissing or sex, I also still want to just hang out, because I like you a lot as a person but also—”
His words get cut off when Eliot presses back in.
He feels Eliot’s smile against his lips.
Re: FILL: Queliot - Shotgunning
(Anonymous) 2021-06-08 12:39 am (UTC)(link)oh I am WEAK, not op but I adore this
Re: FILL: Queliot - Shotgunning
(Anonymous) 2021-06-08 04:24 am (UTC)(link)“It’s like that, huh?” he asks. There’s a pleasant rasp to his voice that makes Quentin’s stomach flip.
the sound that just left my body was more animal than human. AGHHHHH. 😮💨
Re: FILL: Queliot - Shotgunning
(Anonymous) 2021-06-08 02:39 pm (UTC)(link)Quentin's little surge of protectiveness after several paragraphs of insecure crises is my EXACT SHIT, THANK YOU SO MUCH
Re: FILL: Queliot - Shotgunning
(Anonymous) 2021-06-11 01:44 am (UTC)(link)Re: FILL: Queliot - Shotgunning
(Anonymous) 2021-06-18 04:29 pm (UTC)(link)FILL Queliot - Shotgunning
(Anonymous) 2021-06-18 03:20 pm (UTC)(link)I ended up with a different vibe for the setting, so, like, sorry about that, but I'm all up in my post-season-4-for-the-first-time-feelings, so like, have this fix it fic?
Sorry if you end up hating it because I messed with the vibe.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/32025394
Re: FILL Queliot - Shotgunning
(Anonymous) 2021-06-18 04:56 pm (UTC)(link)