Chapter Text
When Mallory wakes it is to Q’s warm mouth sliding down his morning erection. He arches, stretching, then crosses his ankles over Q’s back. “Oh, that’s so damn good,” he murmurs sleepily, reaching down to pet Q’s hair as well.
“Mhmmmmmm,” Q hums in reply, loving the way Mallory’s cock jumps in his mouth at the vibration. He rocks his hips down into the bed reflexively.
“Turn around, let me get my mouth on you too,” Mallory urges, suddenly needing it. He’s never minded giving blow jobs, but he’s never craved it like this before. Never found this much pleasure in suckling like he’s starving for it. As soon as Q shifts position he grabs his hips and pulls them down, taking a few moments to suck gently on Q’s testicles before angling Q’s cock down so he can slide the head between his tongue and soft palate. He groans as the heady taste of pre-cum fills his mouth and Q does something particularly wicked with his tongue.
Q pulls off and pants, “fucking hell that’s- switch, I want you on top.” Moving is awkward, but he really wants to be able to finger his lover at the same time and it’s much harder from this position since he’s using his forearms to hold himself up. He forces himself to pull away and tumbles over to lie on his back. He reaches over and grabs the lube as Mallory swings a leg over and immediately goes back to taking him in as deeply as possible. For a moment Q loses focus and struggles just to still his hips, then jerks in pleasure as Mallory laughs around him. “Oh don’t worry, I’ll make you forget to keep sucking too,” he promises as he pours lube onto the fingers of his right hand and immediately begins circling them over Mallory’s arsehole as he guides the temptingly bobbing length back into his mouth.
Mallory whines and his hips stutter, and he actually does forget to do anything other than run his tongue lightly over the hot flesh in his mouth as one of Q’s elegant fingers presses inside of him. It hurts a bit, but in that good way, and he loves it. He begs ‘more’ by pressing back and sucking harder and making the pleading noises he knows Q loves. Q complies, and then he’s lost in a feedback loop of electric pleasure. He is being filled and surrounded and he can smell Q and taste him and feel him and it’s very nearly too much to handle. His muscles are trembling and he’s digging his fingers into Q’s arse while trying to keep his own hips still. When Q moans around him and an increasingly familiar bitter warmth hits the back of his throat, it sets off his own orgasm immediately and he has to struggle not to collapse on top of his lover. Instead, he falls to the side and lies there in a blissful haze.
Q turns his head to kiss Mallory’s thigh since it’s all he can reach at the moment and moving sounds like far too much effort. “Happy Christmas, sexy,” he drawls as he stretches and then settles back onto the sheets in contentment.
“That was definitely the best Christmas present I’ve ever received,” Mallory replies, enjoying the way his body is still tingling. He never expected he could feel this happy and alive again, this ridiculously in love. He shifts position to sprawl on top of Q, who laughs in delight when Mallory licks a few wet stripes up his neck.
“You’re worse than a puppy,” Q giggles, squirming and pushing playfully at Mallory’s shoulders.
“Should I stop?” Mallory drags his tongue up Q’s jaw then across his lips.
“Well, I didn’t say that,” Q replies, loving the way their lips brush as he speaks. He wraps his arms and legs around the wonderfully warm body on top of him and renewed arousal ghosts gently through him as Mallory’s tongue slides across his soft palate. He knows he’s not likely to get hard again so soon, but it feels lovely just the same. He drags his nails down Mallory’s back and moans when his hair is pulled hard, feeling drunk on sensation.
“You make such gorgeous noises, love,” Mallory praises, pulling his knees up and sliding his arms under Q and around his shoulders so he can sit up and set Q in his lap. He tilts his head back so they can continue kissing as he holds Q close, one hand behind his neck and the other sliding down the sinuous curve of his back and over his perfect arse.
Q undulates his hips reflexively and whimpers into Mallory’s mouth when one finger brushes lightly across his arsehole, and his cock twitches. Pleasure pools in his stomach, and when Mallory slides a finger into his mouth without fully breaking their kiss and then circles it slickly over the same sensitive skin, he digs his fingers into his lover’s back in surprise. He feels close to coming but he’s not actually hard, and that has never happened before. He rocks up into Mallory’s stomach and shivers at how good it feels even without an erection.
“That’s it love, come on,” Mallory encourages when he feels the familiar tension in Q’s body. With how sensual Q is, he’s eager to test his theory that the man can come a second time without an erection. He kisses his way back down Q’s jaw and begins swiveling his own hips slowly as he sucks and nips at Q’s earlobe. He bites the sensitive skin beneath and soothes it with his tongue, whispering encouragements and endearments as he continues brushing his finger lightly between Q’s arsecheeks.
Q trembles and writhes, so close but unable to quite tip over the edge and it’s both gloriously intense and maddening. “I need- I can’t-” he whines incoherently and digs his fingers and heels into Mallory’s back as he presses close, rutting helplessly.
“I’ve got you,” Mallory promises, sliding his hand away from Q’s arse and around to fit it awkwardly between them and palm Q’s testicles gently, slipping his middle finger down to press behind them. Q swears and arches his back into the pressure and then seems to forget to breathe as he freezes for a moment and then shudders, falling bonelessly against Mallory’s chest. Mallory pets his back gently, then carefully tips them over sideways so he can roll and pull Q up to rest on his chest.
“Oh my god that was...I’ve never...I’m officially out of commission for a while. That was amazing. You’re amazing,” Q rambles, feeling both high and exhausted as if he’s just run a marathon.
“I’ve never felt you so desperate; you’re breathtaking, love. I’ve wanted to try that for a while, but I needed to catch you at just the right moment. I’m not sure how easy it is for you to come dry; I’ve never been able to myself,” Mallory muses as he strokes all the sweat-slicked skin he can reach.
“Well I’ve never done it before either, so I don’t know. I don’t think I could survive this all the time though.”
“We’ll save it for special occasions then,” Mallory replies with a hint of pride in his voice.
“Oh go ahead and be smug, you’ve earned it.” Q shuffles up a bit so he can give his rather incredible boyfriend a kiss before snuggling into the crook of his neck. “I’m not going back to sleep, I just don’t trust my muscles to hold me up yet. Shower once I can move? Then presents?”
“Sounds perfect. I’d better get started on dinner as well.”
“Already?”
“You can’t rush perfection, Quillan. Besides, it’s already after ten.”
“Alright, I’ll be ready to move in a few minutes.”
“No rush. A lazy Christmas sounds perfect.” Mallory kisses Q’s hair, something he’s become extremely fond of doing, and snuggles contentedly into the sheets.
By the time they manage to get through a shower and put on comfy flannel trousers for tea and toast it is already eleven o’clock. They settle onto the couch, each holding the other’s wrapped gift. They finally settle on opening ‘on three’ since they can’t decide who will open theirs first.
Q tears open the bright red paper on the small package and immediately breaks into an amused grin. “Well, I know what we’re doing tonight before bed,” he smirks as he opens the package of edible body paint.
Mallory pulls an apron- the kind that only has fabric from the waist down- out of the green wrapping and laughs. “I’m guessing this is my uniform for making us dinner?” He turns it over and reads, ‘Kiss the cook.’ “Well?” He looks at Q expectantly.
Q leans over and kisses Mallory playfully. “I’ll turn up the heat if you want.”
After the light breakfast Mallory shimmies teasingly out of his trousers and ties the apron on, yelping when Q pinches his arse on the way over to the kitchen.
“This looks complicated,” Q observes once the island is covered with ingredients.
“Why don’t you just start by dicing up the celery?” Mallory suggests as he pulls out a cutting board.
“That I can handle,” Q agrees as he selects a knife. He has never considered cooking to be an especially erotic activity, but watching Mallory in the kitchen is a definite turn-on. Well, possibly the fact his boyfriend is practically naked is helping. He cuts up the celery, onions, and apples, then fries them up with butter and sage as he watches Mallory make pie crust from scratch. Then he mixes the contents of the pan into a bowl of bread dried bread cubes and pours chicken stock in until Mallory tells him the dressing looks ready to be stuffed into the two little cornish hens he just finished covering in salt, butter, and more sage.
“Impressed yet?” Mallory asks with a smile as he presses the edges of the pie crust into ridges.
“Extremely,” Q admits. “You’re a rather sexy chef.” He slots his body up against Mallory’s back and reaches around to pet his stomach with both hands as he kisses the nape of his neck.
“You’re a sexy assistant,” Mallory replies as he dumps the bowl of sugar, butter, and cinnamon coated apples into the pie and tries to focus on not breaking the top of the crust as he drapes it over the pie tin while Q continues kissing his neck. “Okay, finished,” he declares after cutting a few slots into it.
“Time for snuggling on the couch while we wait for it all to cook?” Q asks, tugging at the bow on the back Mallory’s apron until it comes undone and letting it drop to the floor.
“Sounds perfect,” Mallory agrees, turning around to tangle his fingers in Q’s hair as he kisses him.
They lounge on the couch under a blanket, sharing stories of childhood Christmases while the flat fills with the delicious scents of baked chicken and apple pie. The pie is finished first, and Q convinces Mallory to share a slice with him as soon as it’s cool enough to eat. They sit and feed each other bites off of one fork. “This is like a scene from a sappy rom-com,” Q comments as he licks a smear of sticky sweetness off of Mallory’s finger.
“I’m aware. I’m pretty much the luckiest bastard alive,” Mallory replies.
“Too right,” Q agrees, then laughs when Mallory punches him playfully in the shoulder. He’s about to retaliate when the buzzer on the oven goes off. “Is it done?”
“I’ll go check.” Mallory gets up and pulls the roasting pan out of the oven so he can stick a thermometer into the breast of one bird. “It’s done!” he calls, then pulls each of the hens out and sets them on plates to cool. “Did you want to eat on bar stools at the counter or on the couch?”
“Bar stools are probably a better idea. Sorry I don’t have an actual table, but there wasn’t room once I put my little studio in,” Q apologizes as he goes to get flatware out.
“I could hardly care less,” Mallory assures Q as he pulls the bottle of white wine out of the fridge and opens it. He pours two glasses and offers one to Q, who takes it. “To our first Christmas together,” he toasts, raising the glass.
“And to everyone stupid enough to let you go,” Q adds before tapping his glass against Mallory’s and taking a sip.
“I rather enjoy that you have a ridiculously sappy side,” Mallory replies, taking a sip of his own.
“I’m not the one who owns Titanic on DVD,” Q points out with a teasing grin.
“Well I’m not the one who has a dozen books by Nicholas Sparks on his shelf,” Mallory counters.
“I’d definitely say that counts as mutually assured destruction as far as blackmail goes,” Q admits. “So I guess that means we’re stuck with each other.”
“I’ll suffer through,” Mallory sighs dramatically. “Now taste, so you have another reason to keep me around.” He holds a forkful of chicken and dressing up to Q’s lips.
Q takes the bite and immediately closes his eyes and hums in appreciation, because it’s mouth-wateringly good. He had been uncertain about the dressing recipe, but it’s amazing. “I think you should move in,” is what comes out in lieu of a compliment.
Mallory blinks in pleased surprise. “That good, huh?”
“Yes. Well no. I mean, not because of dinner, which is delicious. Because I want you here. When work goes late I want to come home to you in our bed, and I want to wake up with you. It feels like home with you here, and I want that. If you do, that is.” Q takes a big sip of his wine, aware that what he’s asking is impulsive and more than a bit crazy since they’ve only technically been dating for a few weeks. But damn it, he wants it.
“More than anything, actually.” Mallory replies, a thrill of excitement sparking through him at the idea of living with Q. “As long as my Titanic DVD can come with,” he adds to lighten the mood, since Q seems nervous.
Q laughs, delighted. “Really? Well, I suppose I can make room for it somehow. You’re serious?”
“Completely. At this point, all I’m doing when either of us work late is wondering if I’ll be bothering you if I come over, and if I should go to my place first and pack a bag, and wanting to be with you whenever I’m not. My flat is impersonal and empty and I have no attachment to it. I’d love to be able to call this home.”
“You don’t think it’s rather mad this early on in our relationship?”
“My grandfather proposed to my grandmother a week after they met, and they were married within a month. They’d been together fifty-five years when he passed away,” Mallory muses in reply. “Just because it’s not common doesn’t automatically make it a bad idea.”
“That’s sweet. I think we’ll just start with moving in together though. No need to go ring shopping just yet,” Q teases with a grin.
“Damn. Well, there go my New Year’s plans,” Mallory sighs. “I’m joking, Quillan,” he says when Q’s eyes widen comically.
“You’re an arse.” Q pokes Mallory with his fork. “So, we’re doing this?”
“We’re doing this,” Mallory agrees, leaning in to kiss his adorably grinning boyfriend. “Now eat before it gets cold, and we can wrap ourselves in cozy blankets on the couch and watch the Doctor Who marathon until the special airs.”
After they eat, they settle onto the couch with more wine and proceed to not watch a few episodes. The show ends up being background noise for sorting out the logistics and timing of moving Mallory in, as well as several extended snogging sessions. They do pay attention to the special, then share another slice of pie because they’re finally hungry enough. Q puts the instrumental Christmas playlist on, and since the sun has set the flat is lit only by the fairy lights on the tree and a few candles.
“Definitely the best Christmas ever,” Mallory declares, wrapping his arms tighter around Q and kissing his bare shoulder. He slides his fingers beneath the waistband of Q’s flannel trousers, the only item of clothing either of them is wearing.
“And I haven’t even gotten to use my present yet,” Q points out, tilting his head so he can nip at Mallory’s earlobe. He smiles when Mallory’s fingers tighten and there is a slight hitch in his breathing. “Ready to be my canvas?” he asks, his voice a low rumble.
“Please,” Mallory breathes. Truthfully he’s been thinking about this ever since he found out Q is a painter. The idea of watching Q’s elegant hands up close as he works, of feeling a brush against his skin...it’s indescribably erotic.
Q slides off the couch and takes a clean drop cloth from a cupboard then spreads it out on the thick rug in front of the tree. He selects a few brushes and brings the edible paints over,and then instructs, “Lie down on your back.”
Mallory does as instructed, cock already beginning to stir when Q strips out of his trousers and gracefully moves to straddle his thighs. He’s so beautiful in the shifting shadows from candles and fairy lights that he reminds Mallory of an untouchable work of art in a gallery. The knowledge that this gorgeous, brilliant, man is his, that they belong to each other, is suddenly quite nearly overwhelming. He reaches out and runs his fingers down Q’s lightly muscled torso. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything,” he whispers. “I was resigned to life alone, and now there’s you, and sometimes I…” He shakes his head in frustration. “All I can think of are horribly cliche lines, but they’re all true.”
Q understands exactly what Mallory is trying to say, because he feels the same. He can’t find the right words either though, so he settles for leaning down to kiss his boyfriend fiercely, trying to communicate all of the things he can’t say, until Mallory is fully hard and clawing at his back as he arches off the floor. When Q finally sits back up they’re both breathing hard and tingling with jagged-edged arousal. He picks up a pot of red paint, and in order to scale the tension back a bit he warns, “If you so much as think, ‘Paint me like one of your French girls,’ I’m stopping.”
Mallory laughs, low and bright. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He places his hands on Q’s thighs, just because he wants to touch. “I’ll just lie back and enjoy this fantasy come to life.”
“Is it?” Q purrs, painting a swirling pattern onto the hand resting on his right thigh, then dragging a curving line all the way up to Mallory’s shoulder.
“Yes,” Mallory sighs, eyes fixed on the way Q’s nimble fingers hold the brush. “I’m sure we’ll end up in the shower after this, so feel free to cover as much of my skin as you want,” he offers.
“Who’s the hedonist now?” Q asks as he paints a sinuous line up Mallory’s cock, which jumps and smears the paint. “Hold still! You’re messing with my artistic process,” Q teases with a light smack to Mallory’s stomach.
“Certain parts of my anatomy are more difficult to control than others,” Mallory pants, his fingers digging into Q’s skin as he tries not to buck his hips up into the maddeningly light touch of the brush.
Q simply hums in reply, focused on painting a celtic knot over Mallory’s right nipple. “Damn, messed it up.” He shakes his head in mock irritation. “I’ll have to start over I suppose,” he muses before leaning down to lick the design away. The paint tastes vaguely like strawberry icing and isn’t terribly enticing, but it’s worth it for the way Mallory swears and presses up into his mouth. Q grins wickedly as he sits up and reaches for the pot of blue paint.
Mallory lies there beneath his lover in the soft light, Q trailing a brush over his sensitized skin and occasionally licking or kissing it off in places, and his arousal quiets as Q continues until he feels utterly drunk with bliss. At some point Q moves on to finger painting and Mallory feels high on touch, on being loved and wanted. Q drags paint over his lips and licks it off but doesn’t really kiss him, and he whines and chases Q’s lips only to have Q laugh and kiss his eyelids instead. On some level he’s aware that he’s hard, but it doesn’t seem to matter anymore. This feels like it’s about something more than just sex, and he doesn’t feel any particular need for it to end in orgasm.
Q watches raptly as Mallory goes pliant under his ministrations. It’s breathtaking, and he tries to memorize each moment because such complete trust and surrender feels like a gift in itself. He doesn’t paint anything recognizable, but the swirling colors still speak of love and happiness and protection to him. When the artwork feels complete, he licks his way up Mallory’s torso and then threads his paint-streaked fingers into his lover’s hair and kisses him, heedless of the paint smearing onto his own skin. He makes a surprised noise into Mallory’s mouth as he is suddenly rolled onto his back, then another when their erections slide together since he’d almost forgotten about being hard.
Mallory pushes up onto his hands and looks down at Q. The moment feels crystallized and fragile. Q is paint-smeared and so gorgeous Mallory can barely breathe. He suspects if he doesn’t do something to break the tension he’ll do something crazy--like ask Q to marry him after all. So he reaches out and dips his fingers into the pot of green paint, winks, and then smears it into Q’s hair.
Q squeaks in surprise but recovers quickly. “Realy? You really want to start this game?” he reaches over to dip his fingers in the nearest pot and flicks orange paint across Malloy’s smirking face.
Mallory laughs and retaliates by running the palms of his hands down his own painted chest and then tickling Q’s sides with them. Things degenerate fairly quickly after that as Q begins giggling and squirming and trying to get at Mallory’s feet, which are by far his most ticklish body part. By the time they give up on the wrestling match and collapse in a tangle of laughter and painted limbs they are both gasping for breath. “Truce! Truce. Ouch, my sides hurt,” Mallory pants, allowing Q to hold his hands to the ground above his head. “You win,” he concedes, his voice bright with amusement.
Q eyes Mallory cautiously and grins down at him, his facial muscles aching from smiling so much. He releases Mallory’s hands and sits up warily. “Promise?”
“I promise.” Impulsively, Mallory takes Q’s left hand and licks around the base of his paint-smeared ring finger, revealing a clean band of skin. “I’m not asking, I swear. Just...someday?”
Q looks at his hand, then down at his brilliant, adorable-as-hell boyfriend, who is biting his lip nervously. “I prefer titanium,” he declares with a sly smile. A moment later he is being pulled back down and thoroughly kissed, while outside the snow begins to fall.
The End
If you are looking for something else to read, dr_girlfriend's 00Q Quriosity story is amazing!