endlessflask | [ duplicity inbox ]

[It's almost instinct, closing his eyes when Eliot kisses him and Quentin blinks a few times before he finds words, heart lodged in his throat, nestled up close with his guilt.]

Uh, yeah. I mean, yes. I'd like that? It's-- Eliot.

[And this is a lot harder, no pun intended, with Eliot in his lap than with Eliot across the room. When there's distance, because up close, Quentin's heart clenches and his hands find their own way on to Eliot's thighs, thumbs smoothing over the fabric of his pants.

Without Eliot's mouth on his, Quentin lets his head fall forward, resting against Eliot's chest. Moving with every breath he takes.

He doesn't say We didn't, me and Alice. We didn't and we won't, not if it hurts you and he doesn't even say before I died, all I could think about was you because yes, start the day over and Quentin's hands slide up and around until he's hugging Eliot around the middle, face pushed hard in to his chest.

I love you]

Okay, let's go back to bed and... start over.

Okay.

[ Eliot’s glad for those arms around him. He needs the physical reassurance that everything is fine and that they don’t need to figure this out right away. He likes knowing that he still gets to wake up next to Quentin today (sort of).

He climbs off of Quentin and takes his hand to lead him to the bedroom. ]

[It doesn't take much, it never has, when Eliot takes his hand and Quentin gets up to follow. It's not exactly a rush to get back in to bed, because they need to talk. About this, about all of it, about all the things that happened to them and how really fucking horrible it was and Quentin still finds himself staring at Eliot some days, pulse racing-- be you, be you, be you.

It's always so easy to see, though, the tilt of Eliot's head, the slope of his shoulders, the curls at the back of his neck. It's just Quentin and his issues and his --

The bed is still sleep-warm underneath the covers when Quentin peels them back.]

Eliot, I-- I love you, you know that, right?

Yeah. Of course.

[ But he knows that love can mean a lot of things and there’s no definitive guide to it. After all, Eliot loves Margo. Not in the same way as Quentin, but close, and it blurs the line between platonic and romance. So. Sure, Quentin can say he loves him and Eliot believes it, but maybe Quentin just doesn’t love him the same way.

And that’s fine.

Once they’re tucked into bed, Eliot presses himself against Quentin, nosing into his neck. ]

[What Quentin wants to do, is bully Eliot on to his side so Quentin can spoon him. Can wrap himself around him like a second blanket and not think about anything else for while, with his face resting between Eliot's shoulder blades. Just feeling him breathe against him for a little while.

But.

Eliot is still not... he's hurting, in more ways than one probably, but it's the physical pain that stops Quentin from just turning over. That makes him stay quiet and still, with Eliot's mouth in his hair, causing goose bumps to pebble Quentin's arms on every slow exhale.]

... good morning?

[So many things he's never had a chance to say. So many things he wants Eliot to know and this is what comes out of his mouth. Quentin groans.}

Good morning.

[ Eliot smiles one of his “everything is fine” smiles, pressing his lips to the skin under Quentin’s ear. He noses along Quentin’s cheek, with another kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Like it’s just another morning, a normal, average morning. ]

[Do-over, and they're pretending. Play pretend that last night and this morning and the long endless night between, never happened and Quentin licks his dry lips. Catching the edge of Eliot's lips when he does and he turns his head a little.

His body tilting towards Eliot, and he reaches up with one hand to brush his fingers over Eliot's cheek. Over his ear, brushing a few curls behind his ear.

Just a normal morning in Duplicity, like any other.

Quentin smiles, a smile that feels wholly fake and unreal, but the kiss he places on Eliot's mouth isn't.]

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