Archive of Our Own

And every time Eliot touched Quentin, the latter dedicated a larger than usual amount of his brain power to making it look like he wasn’t experiencing warm, prickly sensations wherever Eliot’s deft fingers happened to graze him. Nobody needed to know that his stomach was practically bursting with butterflies or that he definitely wasn’t paying attention to whatever was being said around him as soon as Eliot’s hands (or legs or oh god those lips) made contact. Nope, sorry, no weird feelings over here. All of Quentin’s charismatic, tall, and endlessly cool friends touch him like this all the time - don’t yours?

In fact, Quentin’s current internal monologue was sent racing for the finish line because Eliot had reached across the gap between them on the couch and placed his hand so lightly on top of Quentin’s, effectively taking Q’s attention off of the textbook where it currently rested. Their friends were deep in conversation, but Q hadn't really felt like he belonged in it. So after a few minutes, he had started studying for an exam while the others chatted around him. Eliot had noticed this because, to be honest, he always noticed whatever Quentin was doing and reached out in an attempt to pull him back in. Plans for that night were coming together and he knew that Q would probably want to hear them. That way, Quentin could prepare himself for whatever they’d be roping him into this time.

“Hm?” a mildly rattled Quentin said, looking up a bit bleary-eyed from a particularly interesting passage and finding himself making immediate eye contact with Eliot. Whenever their eyes locked, those familiar feelings surged again, but Quentin worked to hold his gaze there anyway.

“We’re going off campus. We need party supplies. You’re coming with us, right?” Eliot leaned in and said quietly while everyone else got up from the couches. The last sentence should’ve sounded like a question, curling up at the end like one of Eliot’s immaculately coiffed locks of hair, but Quentin noted that it did not. He actually didn’t mind being gently ordered around, he decided; Eliot made it surprisingly easy for Quentin to be social in grad school; all he had to do was follow.

“Mmhmm. Yeah, just gimme a second,” Quentin breathed out quietly, unable to work up any more volume than that as he shut his book and started shuffling his belongings back into his messenger bag. As Eliot started to get up from the couch, he slid his hand down to Quentin’s thigh and squeezed lightly, just above his knee, before he walked away. Quentin’s eyes tentatively followed him, attempting to blink away the hallucination that Eliot was stepping away in slow motion.

This is magic, right? Because it feels like magic, these invisible sparks coursing outward from Quentin’s knee in every direction. There was no other way to explain why his whole body could be so affected by a touch that, to anyone else, probably wouldn’t be a big deal. Is this just what Eliot’s magic feels like? Does everyone else feel it too?

Quentin couldn’t remember if he had always reacted this way to Eliot’s touch. Maybe it started with a flicker and steadily grew to its current harshly burning sun with every new sensation, but the brighter that light became, the more difficult it was to ignore. He silently wondered if anyone could tell simply by looking at him that his insides were catching fire in the best way since he did put quite a lot of effort into hiding it.

Eliot could tell. In fact, he thrived on it. It felt so good to see how even the most innocent brush with his knuckles could bring a rosy flush to Q’s cheeks and raise his pulse. Of course, he never said anything about it, at least not to Quentin himself. El didn’t want to risk that his favorite first year would get uncomfortable and move just out of reach. To Eliot’s delight, he never did. Sure, Q nearly squirmed in his seat every time El rested a hand on his shoulder, but he still didn’t shrug it away.

The truth was, Eliot had admitted to himself weeks ago that he was head over heels for Quentin Coldwater but he had a feeling that this crush was probably going to be the kind where he found himself getting, well, crushed. He didn’t have a great read on Q’s sexuality; as far as Eliot could tell, the kid was equally as awkward with even vaguely romantic interactions with all genders. He displayed some seriously adorable reactions to Eliot’s admittedly tame advances, but Q hadn’t made even a tiny move or comment back in his direction since they started. So while Eliot continued to keep Quentin close, he hid away his hope that his freely shared signs of affection would lead to something more and concentrated on being a supportive friend to Q.

-

The day they’d met, Eliot returned from dropping off Quentin at his entrance exam in quite a state. “Bambi, wait until you see him. His dimples,” Eliot whined dramatically to his best friend, draping himself across the back of the armchair Margo was sitting on.

“You and your first-years,” she sighed, feeling an amused smile start to tug at the corners of her mouth. “Am I going to have to pick up the broken pieces of your heart again when he fails and Dean Fogg wipes away all memory of you?”

Eliot stood up immediately, fixing his vest and smoothing out his pants now that he had made his point. “Oh, he’s getting in. I’m already scheduled to be there when he finds out so I can be the first person available to give him a tour of the campus,” he asserted. “You’ll be there to help, right?”

A smirk twisted across Margo’s face. “You know I wouldn’t miss it.”

-

Eliot wasn’t the only one who had noticed just how jittery Quentin became around him. In fact, quite quickly after she received her acceptance into Brakebills, Julia Wicker picked up on the pretty intense vibes between her childhood friend and one of their campus tour guides.

“And this is the cafeteria, but if you know what’s good for you, you’ll let me wine and dine you at least once a week. I cook on Tuesday nights in the Physical Kids’ cottage and you have now been officially invited,” Eliot said, wrapping his arm around Quentin briefly before he continued walking forward, dragging a trail across Q’s back with his fingertips before he sauntered on ahead. “Dress like you’re going on a really nice date,” he called back to them.

Quentin’s eyes were practically bulging out of his head and he had forgotten how to walk, so he just stood frozen in place as he watched Eliot walk ahead of them.

“Who is he,” Julia quietly breathed in Quentin’s direction as she also came to a full stop. The sound he made in response wasn’t exactly made up of words (unless you spoke fluent balloon-being-emptied), but it certainly got the point across.

Julia turned her attention to Q and tried to hold back her grin, simultaneously amused and genuinely happy that her friend was clearly already falling for someone at their new school.

“LET’S GO,” Margo said loudly from behind them, terrifying the shit out of Q as she walked past them and moved to catch up with Eliot. She probably shouldn’t get this much satisfaction out of messing with Eliot’s latest conquests, but she couldn’t help herself.

“R-right, sorry,” Quentin said, shooting a look back over at Jules before he sped up, trying not to trip over his own shoes in the process.

-

Right away, Eliot and Margo made an effort to loop Quentin into their plans. They invited him to parties they hosted, found ways to bring him into their off-campus adventures, and seemed to appear nearby whenever he thought he would have a quiet afternoon to himself. And against all odds, Quentin actually enjoyed the attention.

Until this point in his life, Q had often felt like he was on the outside looking in. With the exception of Julia, he worried that his friends and acquaintances never actually wanted him around. Throughout high school and even in undergrad, he found himself hanging out with groups of kids that gradually phased him out and hoped he wouldn’t notice. And while it did hurt his feelings, he’d tricked himself into thinking that he enjoyed the quiet in order to make the pain a bit easier to bear. He retreated into his favorite books and pushed back the prodding thought in the back of his mind that there was a reason nobody wanted him around.

Fitting in wasn’t something Quentin did very well, but then he met Eliot. And when Eliot Waugh decides that someone is worth having around, he proves it to them - and to everyone else.

“QUENTIN!” Eliot called from across the lawn, hot-footing his way over to the blanket where Q was reading a well-worn copy of Fillory and Further Book 3 in the sunshine. Quentin looked up, only slightly startled since this wasn’t an uncommon occurrence, and sent a closed-mouth smile Eliot’s way.

Fuck, those dimples. Luckily, Eliot had experience with holding it together around people he was hopelessly attracted to. Growing up queer in rural Indiana gave him plenty of practice.

“Bambi and I figured out how to enchant a muggle into bringing us delivery for dinner tonight and we need your help casting the glamour,” Eliot said as he sat down on the blanket across from Q, then took a moment to catch his breath after the run across campus.

Quentin paused for a second, a bit flabbergasted, then said, “...What?”

“Well, we can’t very well have them thinking they’ve stumbled into a magical grad school so we figured we could put them into a trance that makes the cottage look like an apartment building in Queens. Bambi is working on her accent right now,” Eliot stated as if this were a completely normal Thursday night plan.

“Sorry, erm,” Quentin said, closing his eyes for a second and squeezing the bridge of his nose, trying again to make words happen. “I meant, why me? I’m terrible at casting, I would almost certainly mess things up and get us all expelled for bringing a non-magician onto the campus. Surely Julia would be better at this, or maybe Alice? I can ask them for you if you want -” he spoke quicker and quicker with every self-deprecating word that spilled out of his mouth until he found himself babbling incoherently, looking straight down at the blanket and letting his long hair fall into his face.

Eliot reached over and gently swiped Q’s soft brown locks to the side, tucking them behind his ear and tilting his own head down a bit so he could try and look into Quentin’s eyes. He spoke softer this time, peeling back the layers of showmanship that he worked so hard to build up. “Whoa, whoa - that was a lot, I’m not going to unpack that right now, but let me rephrase that,” he said, squeezing Quentin’s shoulder once he had successfully pushed back his hair. “I’m inviting you because I like having you around. You are welcome to help with the casting if you want to, but really, you could just lay on the couch and look pretty and you would 100% be just as useful doing that. And I’m betting that you haven’t had good takeout in a while.”

Quentin was blushing furiously, but he found some courage and looked up at the person who almost certainly had become his actual friend these last few weeks. The person who actually did want him around. He kept waiting to mess it up, to say the wrong thing, to slowly notice that he wasn’t being invited along anymore.

But putting his insecurities aside, Q took a breath and said, “Okay. I’ll be there.”

-

Granted, even though Quentin felt honored to be included, he occasionally spent these plans with the Physical Kids feeling so embarrassed that he tried to disappear into his sweater. This was one of those nights.

“Come on, Coldwater. If you’re going to convince me that you’re not a virgin, you’re going to have to provide details,” Margo leaned back into the couch, raising her eyebrows.

Quentin, who was currently struggling to sit in his chair, had a few drinks in him (courtesy of Eliot, of course) and so instead of totally shutting down, he found himself getting more defensive than usual.

“How do I even, where can I start, I’m not a virgin, Margo,” Quentin pressed back, unable to give her the full story she was looking for because honestly, it wasn’t worth telling. And because Eliot was giving him this look, like he genuinely wanted to know about the intimacies of his sex life.

Eventually, Eliot piped up. “How about we ask you a series of ten yes or no questions - anonymous enough, you won’t have to say any dirty words, and you get to pass on one of them, your choice. Good?”

Quentin let out the world’s biggest breath. He paused for a second, considered the rules, then groaned, “Fine.”

Margo let out a squeal, clapped her hands, then took a minute to consider her questions. While he waited, Quentin buried his face in his hands because looking at people suddenly became extremely difficult.

“Was your first time in college?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Did you have sex more than once?”

“Yes.”

“With more than one person?”

“Yes.”

“With more than one gender?” Eliot nudged his way in between Margo’s barrage of questions to contribute the one thing he’d been wondering most about his crush.

Quentin swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. “Yes,” he practically squeaked.

“CALLED IT,” Margo yelled, fist-pumping the air before Eliot shot her a look. “What? Look at the way he’s sitting.”

Quentin had one foot tucked underneath him and the other leg was somehow propped up on the arm of his own chair. He slowly shifted both legs back onto the floor like a puppy with its tail between its legs and hoped they wouldn’t notice.

Margo chose to ignore this and continued asking her list of questions.

“Have you had sex in public?”

“No.”

“Ever got caught in the act?”

“Yes.”

“Ever had a threesome?”

“No.”

At that answer, Margo looked back over at Eliot. It was pretty common knowledge that the pair would sometimes team up in bringing a third person into bed with them, and Quentin had tried his best to hide that he was at least a little bit jealous whenever he saw someone heading upstairs with them.

Eliot pretended not to see Margo’s pointed glance for now and took the opportunity to ask another question before they were all gone. “Have you ever had an orgasm so good that you forgot your own name?”

Quentin was already flushing a warm, bright pink, but now he was fully convinced that he might’ve caught on fire. He considered passing this one, but after some quick math, determined that he wasn’t willing to head into the final two questions without the opportunity to skip one of them. So he took another breath and admitted, “No.”

Eliot made a mental note to revisit that one when Bambi wasn’t around.

Margo carefully considered her last few chances to ask Quentin sex questions, briefly checked with Eliot (who gestured that they were all hers), then let a mischievous smile creep across her face.

“Have you had sex at Brakebills yet?”

“No.”

“Have you imagined having sex with anyone at Brakebills?”

Quentin swallowed and tried to ignore the burning feeling deep in his stomach.

“Pass.”