Bliss, white-hot and rushing over his skin with every move Eliot makes, with every stroke of his hand over Quentin’s skin and every touch of his lips.

And it still takes him, like, half a second to notice when Eliot pulls back, a hand sliding down his quivering stomach while Quentin has both of his wrapped in Eliot’s curls. What he sees, looking up, is like something out of one of his better sex dreams - Eliot, all sweat-slicked and flushed pretty pink, and it makes Quentin’s heart skip a beat as he sucks in a breath.

“I-“, he’s trembling all over, hands shaking and there’s an offer here, in the lingering way Eliot waits, hand poised just at the edge of Quentin’s too-constricting pants. “Why the hell not.”