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wrapped up (inside of you)

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The Physical Kids’ Cottage was quiet and dark. Quentin stepped through the doorway and narrowed his eyes, struggling to make out shapes in the blackness.

The illumination spells that kept the Cottage glowing at all hours had gone out, and not a single body lay draped over the arm of a couch or the sloping back of a chair that he could see. The single point of light in the room came from one of the nooks cut into a bookcase in the common room, and as Quentin made his way closer he recognized at once the feet poking out.

“Eliot?” He peeked his head inside, was greeted with a frown.

Eliot lay slumped against a mound of pillows, his fingers wrapped delicately around the neck of a bottle. “Quentin,” he said carefully. “How nice of you to join us.”

Quentin furrowed his brow, eyes darting around the cramped space. “Who’s, uh… is someone else in here with you?”

Eliot lifted the bottle and took a swig. “Nope.”

“Okay, so… do you want me to...” Clumsily, Quentin shoved himself inside without waiting for an answer.

Eliot sighed and tucked his legs closer to his body, passing Quentin the bottle once he’d gotten himself settled.

“So, why are you—”

“It’s my birthday,” Eliot blurted out, casting a spell that made fireworks burst from the tips of his fingers. "Hurray."

Quentin frowned. “Why aren’t you having a party?”

Eliot huffed out a laugh. “Because. It’s... my birthday.”

“Okay...” Quentin took a swig from the bottle, wincing at the burn before passing it back. “Where’s Margo?”

Eliot shrugged. “Fuck if I know. Somewhere that I’m not, and I quote, ‘moping like a twat over having been born.’” He took a long pull from the bottle and laughed. “I banished everyone else for the night on penalty of me making the remainder of their lives here on campus a waking nightmare of never getting laid or having fun again.”

A little pang of sadness rang high in Quentin’s chest, his knee knocking against Eliot’s, soaking in the warmth. “Why do you hate your birthday?”

“Everybody hates their birthday.”

“Yeah. I guess.” Quentin studied Eliot’s tired face in the golden light. “But it’s mostly… there’s too much pressure to have a good time and I just figured because you’re always having a good time that your birthday would be…”

Eliot took another swig and turned his head slowly, meeting Quentin’s eyes in a way that made his heart stutter. “Always… having… a good time.” Eliot stumbled over the words, his tongue heavy in his mouth. “Right.”

Quentin swallowed, blushing high on his cheeks, tucking his hair nervously behind one ear. “I’m sorry if I—”

“You’re fine.” Eliot shoved the bottle back into his hands. “Drink.”

Quentin drank. Eliot sulked. The silence stretched on until Quentin began to squirm. “It’s just that—”

“No,” Eliot said firmly. “If you’re going to stay in here with me, Quentin, you’re not going to do that.”

“I just—”


“What if—”


“You can still have a nice night,” Quentin said quickly, and Eliot answered him with a frown, waited for him to continue. “You can still—just because you hate your birthday for… whatever reason. That doesn’t mean you always have to.”

Eliot slumped down a little further, snatched the bottle back from Quentin, took a drink. “And how do you propose I do that?”

Quentin shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe… make a—a happy memory, or…”

Eliot gave him a little smile. “You wanna make a happy memory with me, Coldwater?”

“I… yeah…” He took the bottle, took a deep swig, wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “I wanna make a happy memory with you.”

They only stared for a moment, and then Quentin let his brain shut off completely, practically throwing his body at Eliot as he leaned in and pressed a clumsy kiss to the curve of his mouth, his brain roaring back to life and screaming regrets when Eliot froze, his eyes going wide.

“Shit, sorry, I’m—” The bottle was snatched out of his hand, and it took Quentin a moment to register that Eliot was using his telekinesis to float it out of sight somewhere beyond their glowing little nook.

And then Eliot was on him, grabbing the front of Quentin’s shirt and all but pulling him into his lap, crashing their lips together awkwardly in the tiny space. Eliot was all teeth and hands, gasping into Quentin’s mouth and pawing at his shirtfront.

“Get this off,” he said, breaking the kiss and fumbling with a button, and Quentin caught him by the wrist.

“Can we, uh… can we—this is nice but, uh… can we talk about—”

“Talking isn’t making a happy memory, Quentin.”

“But taking my shirt off would be?” Eliot nodded at that. “Okay, so… okay.”

Eliot frowned, pulling his hand away. “You’re the one who kissed me.”

“I know, I just… wasn’t thinking.” Eliot’s face fell at that, and Quentin’s heart sank down to the floor. “No, I… it was nice. I just—I didn’t think you. Um. I wanna do it again. And then maybe, uh... take off our shirts.”

Eliot just stared at him, so Quentin took him by the shoulders and said. “Would you just kiss me again? But… like a real kiss.”

Eliot’s grin reached up to his eyes then. “A real kiss, hm?” He nuzzled Quentin softly. “With tongue and everything?”

Quentin huffed out a nervous laugh. “Shut up. You know what I mean, El.”

“I know what you mean. Come here.” He wrapped his hand loosely around Quentin’s throat and slotted their lips together.

The kiss built itself up from a whisper, catching like a spark striking kindling and setting them alight. Quentin moaned as Eliot tangled fingers in his hair, licked into his mouth like he was coaxing secrets from the dark.

And then it was over, and Quentin could only sit there burning as Eliot pulled away smirking, asking, “How was that?”

Quentin’s breath was coming very quickly now. “Nice,” was all he could manage, which only made Eliot’s smile grow.

“It was nice for me too. Can I ask you a question, Quentin?”

Mouth parted and eyes wide, Quentin could only nod.

“Do you want to go to bed with me?”

As the words slipped from Eliot’s mouth, Quentin could feel all the air being pushed from his lungs. “You mean…”

“You know what I mean.”

Quentin swallowed, and watched as Eliot wrapped long, deft fingers around his wrist, using his other hand to push his cuff gently up his arm. He brought it up to his lips, sucked a kiss into the pulse point there, never once looking away from Quentin’s eyes.

Quentin felt it everywhere, like a live wire in his veins burning straight down to his toes. His cock ached between his legs, and then it was no longer a question of if, but rather how soon they could get out of this little nook and up the stairs and into Eliot’s bed fast enough.

But then Quentin went and blurted out, “No,” and the look on Eliot’s face was enough to make him want to crawl under the Cottage, never come out again. “I mean—shit. Yes. I wanna, um… I just. Can we… stay here and, um...”

Realization dawned on Eliot’s face, and he smiled. “Okay. We can stay. But first... come out here with me.”

Eliot pushed past him and slipped out of the nook, into the dark, and a moment later a few of the illumination spells kicked back on outside. Quentin crawled out after him and was greeted at once by Eliot pushing him up against the bookcase, rattling the shelves as their bodies crashed together.

Eliot’s hands were everywhere, in Quentin’s hair and on his face and pulling at the collar of his shirt. He pulled away laughing, did a tut and loosened the knot of his own tie, did another and the tie lifted up over his head. He unbuttoned his vest with a flourish of his fingers, then his shirt, and by the time he was finished magically undressing his top half Quentin had managed to fumble loose the last button of his own shirt.

Bare chested at last, they came together again. “You know,” Eliot breathed against Quentin’s lips, “I never imagined you would be the one seducing me.”

Quentin blushed. “I just… kissed you. I didn’t—”

“Quentin.” Eliot pressed a finger to his lips and smirked. “I can feel how hard your dick is right now, so why don’t we just skip the bullshit and get to making the happy memories, hm?”

Quentin blushed a deep shade of scarlet. “Okay… I, um… I wanna, um…”

“Just spit it out, Q.”

“I wanna suck your dick.”

The words came out so fast, Quentin hardly had time to register he’d said them at all. Eliot just stared, for a moment that stretched on for eternity, and just as Quentin was considering running up the stairs to his room and never showing his face again, Eliot smirked, gripped Quentin by the ass and purred, “Let’s put that pretty mouth to work, then.”

Quentin didn’t know if he’d ever felt his body so alive, every nerve singing at the gentlest touch, his cock so hard it made him dizzy. Terrified, exhilarated, certain he was going to explode, he leaned up, pecked Eliot on the lips, and took him by the wrist, tugging him back over to sit down on the edge of the nook.

Eliot allowed himself to be led, sitting down without a word, watching as Quentin went to his knees between his parted thighs. The angle was perfect, and before he could overthink what he was doing Quentin leaned up and began mouthing at Eliot’s throat, his collarbone, Eliot’s hand coming to rest gently on the nape of his neck as he worked his way back down.

He lavished one of Eliot’s nipples with his tongue, eyes locked firmly on his face to catch his reaction, was rewarded with a moan and a smile. “That’s good,” he breathed, petting the top of Quentin’s head as he slipped down further, pressing a kiss just above Eliot’s navel.

“Will you…” Quentin tugged at his belt buckle. “Lift up when I…”

He got the belt open with a little help from Eliot’s magic, and popped open his fly with fingers that wouldn't stop shaking. Eliot lifted his hips and Quentin got his pants and underwear down and off with a few awkward tugs, then sat back on his heels to take in the sight before him.

His eyes swept from Eliot’s ankles up to where his cock stood rigid and proud, and his pulse went from a gentle flutter in his neck to a frantic drumming in his chest in a blink. Quentin swallowed, trying to remember to breathe.

Eliot smirked, running the fingers of one hand down the slope of his belly. “You like what you see?”

Quentin bit at his bottom lip, tucking the hair back behind his ears as he searched for words—any words at all, really—and willed his tongue to move. “Uh huh,” was what came out when he tried to speak.

Eliot wrapped a hand around his thick length, gave it a single, aching stroke, a little bead of pre-come dribbling down his shaft. Quentin couldn't keep his eyes from it. “Didn’t your parents ever teach you that it’s rude to stare?”

“Sorry, I—”

“Don’t be sorry.” Eliot cocked his head to one side. “Why don’t you take off those pants and let me get a look at you.”

Quentin drew in a sharp breath and tottered to his feet, feeling more drunk from Eliot’s eyes on his skin than the alcohol. Amazingly, he didn’t topple over as he kicked out of his shoes, stripped off his socks, fumbled with his belt and shoved his pants and underwear down in one swift motion. He kicked them away and turned back to Eliot, resisting the urge to cover himself with his hands.

Eliot’s eyes raked over his body. “Come here,” he said, and Quentin went to him, let Eliot run a warm hand up the fluttering muscle of his belly, eyes locked firmly on his cock as he pointedly avoided it with his touch.

Quentin shivered. “You, uh… you like what you see?”

“Oh yes, baby.” Eliot eyed him with hunger. “I like it very much.”

Everywhere that Eliot touched him set his skin ablaze, until all Quentin could do was tremble and burn. He sank down to his knees slowly, ran his shaking hands up Eliot’s calves, his knees, his thighs. Quentin felt starved, the feast of Eliot’s body stretching out before him like a miracle.

“Don’t be shy.” Eliot thumbed at his cheek. “Or do…”

“I’m not.” Quentin blushed impossibly deeper. “I’m...”

“Would it be easier if I told you what to do?”

Eliot’s words went straight to Quentin’s dick. Why hadn’t he thought of that earlier? “Yeah, let’s… let’s do that.”

“Okay.” Eliot threaded the fingers of one hand in Quentin’s hair, used the other to thumb at his bottom lip. “Fuck, you’re pretty. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve jacked off thinking about these lips wrapped around my dick?”

“You—you think about me when you jack off?”

Quentin didn’t think he’d ever seen Eliot more sober. In spite of the alcohol, he was clear-eyed and radiant, attentive and alert to the sight before him. “When I jerk off, when someone else is on my dick… I’ve been meaning to seduce you for some time now, Quentin, but someone always seems to get in the way.”

“Sorry,” Quentin muttered, moving closer when Eliot gave his hair a little tug.

“Stop saying that. You have nothing to be sorry for.” Eliot spread his thighs wider, moving himself right up to the very edge of the nook. “Come here, baby. Open that mouth nice and wide for me now. Daddy’s gonna feed you his dick.”

Quentin’s cock leaked down onto the floor as he parted his lips, allowing himself to be guided. Their eyes locked together as Eliot traced the thick head of his cock along the jut of Quentin’s bottom lip, and Quentin couldn’t help but let his tongue dart out, aching for a taste. He lapped at the slit, holding onto Eliot’s thighs as slowly he began to feed his cock into Quentin’s mouth.

He pushed in just an inch or two before retreating, but already Quentin’s jaw ached at the stretch. “It’s so big,” he muttered, laughing a little before Eliot slipped back between his lips.

“You can take it, baby.” Eliot pushed in a little deeper this time, his fingers digging into Quentin’s scalp. “That’s it. Nice and slow.”

He thrust up just a little, not deep enough for Quentin to gag, just enough for him to feel it. Quentin stuck out his tongue and let it glide along the underside of Eliot’s dick as he worked up a rhythm that was as steady as it was slow.

Eliot pulled him off to let him catch his breath. Quentin looked up at him, panting, and could only think to say, “I want more.”

Eliot’s eyes went dark. “Do you now?”


“You want me to fuck your throat?”

Quentin sucked air deep into his lungs and pushed it out. “Yeah, I—I wanna try.” He didn’t think he’d ever wanted anything more. “And tell me, uh… tell me what you think about when you...”

“When I jack off?”


“Oh, you are a dirty boy, Q,” Eliot practically growled. “Open.”

There was nothing gentle about the way Eliot pushed into his mouth this time, and Quentin felt it like a jolt straight to his own dick. Eliot gripped his hair and thrust in deep, barely half his length in Quentin’s mouth before he started to gag. He pulled back a little, let Quentin breathe, then snapped his hips and roughly pushed him back down.

“This,” Eliot’s voice trembled when he spoke, “is what I think about, Q. Using you right here in this room. On your knees with every eye on campus fixed on the spot where my dick is sliding into your mouth.”

Quentin whined, gulping down the air when Eliot pulled him up for a moment, spit dripping from his chin, tears streaking down his face. Their eyes met in the glow of the magic light, and Eliot leaned down, stealing Quentin’s lips in a sloppy kiss before guiding his mouth back to his dick.

“Never imagined you could take it this good, though.” A broken sound slipped free from Eliot’s chest, his hips moving in little circles as he worked Quentin up and back down again. “Wish you could see yourself, baby. Don’t think you’ve ever been more beautiful than you are right now.”

Quentin ran his hands along the warm expanse of Eliot’s skin, up his thighs to his hips, his quivering belly as he pushed in deep. He’d never felt so deliciously full, choking on all that Eliot had to give. He had no hope to take him to the root, but oh how he wanted. Eliot thrust in again and Quentin tried to push it deeper, came up gasping for air when Eliot tugged him back.

“Jesus fuck, Q,” Eliot laughed, panting, gripping Quentin’s hair in a tight fist. “Don’t know how much longer I can last if you’re gonna do that.”

Quentin wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, feeling ravenous and wild. “Do it again,” he breathed, his own cock throbbing painfully between his legs. “Wanna feel you.”

When Eliot pushed back in this time, there was a moment when Quentin was certain he was going to come untouched all over the floor. The ache had become unbearable, and he had to reach down between his legs and take himself in hand, stroking himself clumsily as Eliot choked him perfectly on his dick. Fresh tears sprang in his eyes as Eliot’s hips stuttered, shallow little thrusts upward as he held Quentin down, and the sounds spilling now from his chest told Quentin that it wouldn’t be long.

Quentin came first, spilling all over his fist and the floor as he gagged around the fullness of Eliot in his throat, moaning around his mouthful. This is what sent Eliot finally over the edge, Quentin’s muffled pleasure tipping him into his release with a rattling groan, his fist gripping Quentin’s hair so tightly he was certain he would feel it for days.

Quentin did his best to swallow around him, sputtering and gagging as Eliot spent himself all over his tongue, finally going soft and slipping free from his lips, leaving a sticky trail in his wake. And for a moment, Quentin could only sit there gasping for air, the afterglow of his own orgasm buzzing like static in his veins.

Eliot collapsed back into the nook with a laugh and a sigh, gulping down great lungfuls of air. “That was… holy shit, Q. That was…”

“Yeah,” Quentin huffed between ragged little breaths. “It was…”

It took all of his energy, but Quentin managed to reach for his shirt and wipe up his mess, then wobble to his feet and squeeze himself into the nook next to Eliot, flopping down at his side with his legs dangling out over the edge. Quentin locked his eyes on Eliot’s face, watched as a dopey smile stretched itself from ear-to-ear, as he turned to gaze at him through hooded eyes.

“Happy birthday to me,” he mumbled, pressing a kiss to Quentin’s forehead.

“So,” Quentin said through the blissful haze fogging his mind. “Would you say we succeeded in making a happy memory?”

Eliot breathed in deeply, exhaling with a contented sigh. “Oh, Q. We did. And as soon as I can remember how to move my legs again, I’d like to make another.”

Quentin smiled and let his eyes slide shut. “I like the sound of that.”

“Me too,” Eliot mumbled.

Quentin pressed a kiss to the warm slope of his shoulder. “Happy birthday, El.”