[There was a strange witchery about this world, already Eliot knew it and he while it called to an echo of his past life, the greater one that he recalled; the life where he grew old and loved this man spread bare and open before him it held no sway. The cravings that riddled every crevice of body and soul were ripe with the profuse nature of his love for Quentin.
Using the slick from his lover's own body, Eliot began to open him slowly, one digit at a time. He pressed a slow finger inward through overly tight muscles. They clung to him with reminders of a night so long ago, on warm tiles beneath a setting sun. Pulling and pushing, Quentin's body welcomed and refused him all at once. The elder magician groaned against the natural feeling.
Once he'd found a way through, he pulled back and pushed inward, hooking his finger slightly. It wasn't the best, easiest thing. He knew there'd be pain, sharp and real, but he tried to do all that he could, knowing this body as an extension of his own, Eliot played it with his finger, slowly expanding the entrance while his mouth did its best to distract, a noble contract of tongue and teeth over an architect's finest designs of hipbones, and long expanses on white pale abdomen. Gods he loved this man.]
There is no world in which I will not have you, where you won't be mine. None, I will always find you Quentin.
no subject
Using the slick from his lover's own body, Eliot began to open him slowly, one digit at a time. He pressed a slow finger inward through overly tight muscles. They clung to him with reminders of a night so long ago, on warm tiles beneath a setting sun. Pulling and pushing, Quentin's body welcomed and refused him all at once. The elder magician groaned against the natural feeling.
Once he'd found a way through, he pulled back and pushed inward, hooking his finger slightly. It wasn't the best, easiest thing. He knew there'd be pain, sharp and real, but he tried to do all that he could, knowing this body as an extension of his own, Eliot played it with his finger, slowly expanding the entrance while his mouth did its best to distract, a noble contract of tongue and teeth over an architect's finest designs of hipbones, and long expanses on white pale abdomen. Gods he loved this man.]
There is no world in which I will not have you, where you won't be mine. None, I will always find you Quentin.