All of it is just -- so muc, an almost-nerdgasm from making out to the battle sounds of LoTR, from getting top-front action on like, not even the first date. It just happened, in a way that never happens to Quentin and it's still happening. Eliot doesn't disappear or turn out to be just this very, very vivid hallucination brought on by too much wine and those unlabeled nachos in the fridge.

Gasping, Quentin tilts his head back, heart slamming in his chest and both hands fisted in to Eliot's hair.

"Oh, God-- El- Eliot--"

And it's only when Eliot starts to touch that it hits home; he can do that, too. Quentin wastes no time, hands running down Eliot's back and up his arms, caressing and stroking every inch of skin he can reach, as he kisses his way across Eliot's face and down to lick at the soft skin at his throat.