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Quentin woke up much earlier than usual, well before they could expect anyone else to be awake, and soft, early-morning light was filtering through the white curtains onto their bed, where Eliot slept beside him. Their fingers had been twined together as they slept, and one of Eliot’s long legs was crossed over Quentin’s. Quentin rolled onto his side and regarded his husband-- he looked so beautiful in his sleep. His soft curls stood out dramatically against his light pillow, and his strong, lovely features were serene, with the smallest hint of a smile.
It took Quentin no time at all to decide to try to give Eliot a very good morning. He gently disentangled and shed his tee shirt-- because why not, it would feel nicer-- and scooched down into the bed under the sheet, settling on his stomach and elbows between Eliot’s long, slightly splayed legs and softly rucking down his boxers. Quentin smiled and practically hummed to himself as he began to gently nuzzle and kiss and lick around Eliot’s cock. He loved this. He really did.
Eliot began to squirm as he started to get hard, and Quentin didn’t stop him, just followed his hips in the little circles they were making around the bed. Then long fingers slid gently into his hair, and he heard Eliot say, his voice breathy, “Oh. Q… good morning, sweetheart. Mmmmmmm.”
“Is this okay?” Quentin asked, lifting up but rubbing his hands up Eliot’s inner thighs. “Yes,” said Eliot, blissfully, and he ran a thumb gently over Quentin’s cheekbone before settling his fingertips against the back of his head. “Mmmmmmmm,” answered Quentin, as he ducked back down and took Eliot into his mouth, sucking gently and feeling his thick cock hardening and beginning to fill him up. He scrambled around a little bit to pull Eliot’s boxers the rest of the way off, then settled in and began to apply himself. This was just the best.
Eliot was so warm. He smelled wonderful, musky and familiar. His strong thigh muscles clenched a bit as Quentin held onto his hips and took him deep into his throat. Eliot was stifling a moan, and Quentin was so, so turned on. He pulled back and sucked the head of his cock, velvety smooth and swollen, then circled the slit with his tongue before pressing it to the roof of his mouth and flicking his tongue against his frenulum until Eliot bucked and squirmed. Quentin leaned a forearm across his hips and pulled back off. He rubbed and tugged gently at his balls as he licked a hard stripe up the underside of his cock. He lifted up with his back muscles to pull his arms up and run them up the front of Eliot’s body, pressing firmly over his ribs and up his pecs. He caught Eliot’s nipples and rolled them between his thumbs and middle fingers, making him gasp and arch up, before pressing his hands down over his abs and back to his hips.
Eliot was fully hard now, (so was Quentin, but that was another matter,) and Quentin admired the considerable size of his husband’s beautiful cock while rubbing the fingers of one hand in a quick spell for a little bit of lube. He made the hand into a loose fist and pushed it down over the tip of Eliot’s cock and onto the base of his shaft, keeping a firm pressure as he followed his hand with his mouth, cheeks hollowed and sucking Eliot gently into his throat. Oh, that did it. Eliot gyrated and moaned softly, “Ohhh, Q…” as Quentin slowly pumped and sucked, humming enthusiastically, over and over and over, pressing with his tongue and the roof of his mouth.
Finally, Eliot began to jerk slightly against Quentin’s forearm where he was holding him down, his muscles tightening down his stomach, and Quentin could tell that he was close. He relaxed his throat and took Eliot all the way to the back, then pulled him back to breathe and did it again, squeezing and sucking and moaning as he went. On the third thrust, Eliot stiffened and came, hips stuttering and breath caught in his chest, and Quentin moaned and sucked and rolled with his hips as he did, following him through it, taking him in and swallowing him down and loving it.
Eliot stilled, more or less, catching his breath, as Quentin pulled off and laid his head at the top of his thigh, thumbed his hip bone and gently scratched beneath his soft fluff. The sheet had fallen long since, and Quentin could see a bit of silver there, in the stronger morning sunlight. He smiled to himself, delighted, delighted with all of this. “Please come up here, you,” laughed Eliot, taking Quentin’s hand and trying to tug him up the bed. Quentin scampered up, so that Eliot could take hold of him and begin to kiss him senseless. Oh, he melted, this was incredibly nice, too.
Eliot’s hands were large and warm and firm on the small of his back and the back of his neck. His lips were soft but muscular and he kissed so, so well, as they slotted their mouths together and licked into each other, languid and sensitive. “What can I do for you, baby?” Eliot asked between kisses. “What do you want?”
“Hands,” Quentin answered, gasping, “your hands. I want to kiss.” He leaned up and raised his eyes to meet Eliot’s. Eliot eyes were soft, intent, and the look he gave Quentin was open and amused and so deeply loving. Quentin could tell that Eliot wanted to give him, just… everything.
Eliot sat up a little and rolled Quentin onto his back, straddling him. He continued kissing him as he threaded his fingers up past his ears, into his hair, and brought them down to the base of his skull, tugging down. Quentin gasped as his chin lifted and Eliot kissed his throat, beneath his jaw, sucked a mark into his shoulder, nibbled along his collarbone, and took a stiff nipple and rolled it with his lips over his teeth. He sat back and pushed both hands up Quentin’s thighs, stroked his perineum with his thumbs, and finally encircled his cock with his hands, long fingers and strong palms holding and stroking and pulling gently, and Oh . That sensation was spectacular. Quentin’s breath hitched as Eliot touched him, and his hips arched up into his hands. He loved Eliot’s hands. He had always loved his hands.
Fleetingly, Quentin wondered, where had his boxers gone? When had Eliot? But nope... not really important. “Let’s sit you up a bit, sweetheart, so I can kiss you,” said Eliot, and he took hold of Quentin’s hips and helped scoot him up and backward, so he was more or less on his knees and leaning back against the headboard. Eliot placed a pillow behind Quentin’s back, then knelt in front of him, straddling his knees. He performed a little, delicate motion with his fingers and poured a thin stream of warm, slick liquid onto Quentin’s arching, achingly hard cock. Eliot leaned over Quentin, positioning himself perfectly, and began kissing him.
He kissed him slowly, and Quentin loved it. When Quentin pushed for more, Eliot gave it, and at the same time he took him into his hands and began to stroke, gently at first, and then firmer. Quentin began to writhe and buck up into Eliot’s hands. He wrapped his hands into Eliot’s hair and pressed his mouth to his, sucking and licking and biting as they furiously kissed. Then Eliot made a tunnel with his fists, one on top of the other, and pressed them down onto Quentin’s cock, over the head and down the shaft, one after the next, hand over hand, tightening slightly as he went, and Quentin. His knees gave out. He buckled forward and grabbed Eliot’s shoulders. “El,” he gasped, “so much. Too…. too…” Eliot stilled, and Quentin gasped and laughed. “Okay,” said Eliot, smiling. He stroked him slowly with one hand, “c’mere.”
Quentin was more than happy to be pulled into Eliot’s lap. He climbed up and wrapped his legs around Eliot’s hips, his arms around his back. They fit together so perfectly like this.
Eliot tucked an arm behind Quentin’s shoulder and cupped the back of his head. He kissed him warmly and stroked the length of him, rubbed his thumb over the head of his cock, wet with pre-cum, and stroked some more. He did it firmly, perfectly, holding Quentin and kissing him and loving him, and Quentin relaxed into it, his hands around his back, blissed out in Eliot’s arms, until his body shuddered and jumped and rocked with his release. Eliot kissed him though it, held and stroked him through it, until Quentin’s forehead dropped onto Eliot’s shoulder and he stilled, catching his breath.
They held each other tight. “Mmmm, good morning,” said Quentin. “Morning,” said Eliot, and Quentin could hear the smile in his voice, “Quick shower?” “Yeah,” he replied, happy. “Quick shower.”