Eliot leaned in the doorway of Tulla's room watching the girl make Very! Important! Decisions!
What to pack for her first sleepaway trip with Linnie's sister's family.
Four days away from home, he thought. What if she gets scared? What if she wets the bed? What if she wakes up from nightmares? What if she wants her own bed by the second night?
Quentin had spent much of the previous night assuring him it would be okay, and he could tell the man was frankly still a little sour about the loss of sleep.
I really shouldn't have woken him up. So many times.
Tulla had never been away from them for more than one night, but she'd had several sleepovers at the La'han house without issue. They were more or less extended family. She and the youngest girl were best friends. Tulla hadn't wet the bed in over a year, and Dallie La'han was more than qualified to handle a child's nightmare fuss.
As for missing her own bed? Quentin assured him over, and over, and over again that Dallie could talk and cuddle her through that potential meltdown as well.
"You're the one who was so concerned about not treating her like she's like she's broken," Quentin reminded him sleepily after unwelcome wake-up number three. "We can't treat her like she's made of glass, either. Can we? . . . Eliot?"
"Nooooooo . . ."
"Okay, good. We'll make sure she has everything she needs before she leaves, and she'll be fine."
"I know . . ."
"Right. Now, I love you, but if you wake me up again, I'm gonna go sleep on the couch." He flopped over on his side and pulled the covers up to his chin. "And before I go, I may kick you," was the last thing he muttered before falling asleep.
You'll have to make it up to him. Eliot thought with a sigh as he watched his daughter skip back and forth across the room chanting:
"Beach, beach, beach! I'm going! To! The beach!"
The logic side of his brain knew Quentin was right, but the parent side of his brain was still struggling to let it go.
"Beach, beach, beach! I'm going! To! The beach!"
"Are you going to take Bunny?" He asked, referring to Tulla's best friend in this or any other universe, her stuffed toy Bunny. Named Bunny.
"Yes!" Tulla chirped, snatching her nearly threadbare pal off the bed and dancing it around the room, still singing the beach song.
In its years as Tulla's Best Friend, Bunny had been dragged through mud, the woods, the garden, soaked up spilled milk, apple juice, ice cream, and tears, suffered several nighttime potty accidents, and at least a million strangling hugs.
Both of Bunny's eyes had been sewed back on twice, and its head flopped over the crook of Tulla's arm when she carried it around.
Poor Bunny had suffered a lot for Tulla's love.
Tulla was firm on selecting all her clothes for the trip by herself, and once she was done Eliot and Q helped her tuck them into a shiny purple backpack they bought her on their first trip to New York as a family. They'd shown her all over the city, and when they returned home, all she talked about with her friends was 'the big clothes store,' with a special emphasis on backpacks, purses, and shoes.
Go figure.
Tulla went bombing out the door the second she heard the La'han's carriage approaching. El and Quentin followed, barely managing to get in one quick kiss and hug each before their daughter's full attention went to the La'han siblings, the youngest of whom, like her, had never been to the beach. Their excitement was palpable.
The men waved and called out goodbyes and have funs until the stagecoach disappeared around the corner.
When they got back to the cabin, Eliot turned to Q with a soft, conciliatory gaze. "Sorry about last night, I know I was . . . special."
"Mmhm," Q nodded. "Yeah, we're not gonna talk about that right now."
"But-"
"Here's the thing, El. While you've been freaking out about our perfectly safe and emotionally stable daughter's four days away from us, I'vebeen thinking about all the things we can do for while our daughter is away from us."
"What do you mean?" he asked, still stuck in parent-mode.
"I mean, Eliot, that soundproofing spells may be great, but when you've got a toddler or little girl constantly running around and/or needing things, there are limits to what you can do. Our entire sex life for the last three and a half years has taken place mostly in that room." He pointed to their bedroom. "Everywhere else? Out here, outside, that's all Tulla-space."
Eliot frowned. "Are you saying you're unsatisfied with our sex life?"
"Unsatisfied is an overstatement," said Q. "But four days to ourselves is . . . kinda the perfect chanceto break out of our, um . . . routine."
"Hm," Eliot felt the corners of his mouth twitching. "I had not thought of that."
"Yeah, I know." Quentin crossed his arms. " And the Eliot I remember would've thought of it first thing,so we're gonna try to wake up that guy!"
The twitch turned into a grin. "Are we?"
"Get a chair and set it in the middle of the room." Quentin pointed to the dining table without uncrossing his arms.
Eliot raised a curious eyebrow, and was answered with a stern look.
Bye-bye, dad-brain, he thought as he dragged the chair across the room.
"Sit. And close your eyes."
A heated tingle like he hadn't felt years shot down Eliot's spine. Maybe I have gotten boring(?)
He heard Quentin approach. Unrushed footfalls. The sound moved behind him, and then he felt a soft fabric covering his eyes. "Okay," Eliot breathed. "This is-"
"Not a talking time." Q cut him off, fastening the blindfold tight. "Hands behind the chair."
Eliot realized as cold metal clamped around his wrists that his husband was right. What the hell would we say if Tulla walked in on this? If we told her it was a game, she'd just wanna play. Or at least ask a million questions . . .
He listened to Quentin walk around the chair, stopping somewhere in front of him. Then all he heard was breathing. His own, and Q's. His pulse raced as he tried not to squirm in protest against the frustrating silence.
Finally, Q moved close enough that his legs just barely touched Eliot's knees.
"The thing is, El, my original plan was a lot different. We were going to destroy this entire room. Starting . . . like . . . the second we were alone."
Aw fuck, that would have been awesome!
Fingers trailed lightly up and down his legs, and the floorboards creaked.
Is he getting on his knees? Is that what's happening?
"That was my plan. But then some prick kept me up half the night . . ."
He could tell from the direction of Q's voice that the man was, indeed, kneeling in front of him.
" . . . and now I'm too tired for all the effort."
The words were spoken right next to his ear. He drew a deep sigh, tilting his head as warms lips feathered down his throat, then up again, stopping at his other ear.
"So this is gonna be pretty damn basic, El. And afterwards? I'm going to take a nap."
Lips wandered again, eventually settling against his own. A soft press followed by the teasing scrape of teeth.
Eliot sucked in a sharp breath as a hand slipped between his legs. Blood had been rushing to his groin since the first cuff closed around his wrist, so it didn't take much effort on Q's part to get him hard.
"When I wake up, I want you to have a full day of fun shit planned for us."
"I will!" El declared, voice shallow and uneven. "I Promise-oh fuck, that feels good!" He whispered in reference to the hand cupping and massaging through his pants.
"Thank you," Q responded with total nonchalance. "And just so we're completely clear:by 'fun' I mean stuff we wouldn't do if our kid was here . . ."
Eliot focused all his willpower on holding still as Quentin unfastened his belt. How many buttons on these pants? . . . Four. Four buttons. He counted down each as it was undone. Moments later, delicate fingers curled around the base of his cock and began to stroke. Slow and gentle.
"Not that I don't think you can do it, I'm sure you can . . ." Q went on speaking in the same breezy tone. " . . . but you are out of practice, so I'll get things started. In the other timeline, the night I kissed you, but you decided we couldn't fuck. Remember that?"
"Y-yeah," El rasped as the hand around his cock grew more assertive.
Quentin's stroke sped up, grip firming just a bit. "Let's revisit that night and see if maybe you can make some less stupid choices, okay?"
"Less stupid. Got it!"
Eliot moaned softly into a deep and agile kiss. Such familiar contact. Many decades of familiar . . . but somehow, this time, it still made his head swim. He didn't even mind the lingering bitterness of coffee.
He whined when Q's mouth left his suddenly, and he cried out with a jolt when it sealed around his cock, tongue swirling over the tip. It was clear he didn't intend to prolong the experience. He meant for Eliot to come. That was the mission,and he employed every skill to make sure it happened.
When it was over Q stood up, put his hand on the back of Eliot's head, and pushed his own fully hard cock through pliant lips. El relaxed his throat immediately, certain that his husband had no intention of being gentle.
I know you so well, he thought with a rush of pride as Q's actions proved him right. He thrust every inch of himself into Eliot's mouth and paused a beat. Then began rocking his hips, escalating the pace at a steep incline.
Quentin usually showered Eliot with praise during blowjobs, but this time the closest thing he got to a compliment was a 'good,' or 'nice' muttered amid the quiet moans and measured breathing.
He knew his mate. Steady, even breathing this far into a blowjob meant the man intended to last.
Last as long as possible.
He withdrew several times to let Eliot catch his breath before continuing, but still . . .
. . . Fuck, this is WORK! With the added challenge of hands cuffed behind his back unable to help? He hadn't put this much effort into sucking dick in a long time.
Finally, Q's breath went ragged. He came not long after, and Eliot fell slack against the chair, panting heavily. Meanwhile, Quentin did up their pants, and untied his husband's blindfold.
"Am I forgiven?" Asked Eliot with a lazy smile.
Quentin returned the warm expression. "Do-over the night I kissed you, sweetheart. Fix it . . ." He moved behind the chair, bending down to nuzzle El's throat and remove the handcuffs. "And if I'm impressed, you're forgiven."
"Done," Eliot purred, arms wrapping around Quentin as he stood up. "I'm not worried at all." He gave his husband a quick kiss on the nose. "Go enjoy your nap."
THE END