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“Ow, Fuck!”
Charlton let out a surprised screech and fell off the bed as a body landed between him and Eliot just as they were starting to get the horizontal portion of the make out.
Eliot grunted far less elegantly than he’d ever admit when he got a face full of hair from the unexpected arrival, but it was the man who landed in between them who swore, and then kept going.
“Jesus, what the hell?”
Eliot’s heart froze at hearing the irritated voice coming from his lap for a second time. Something in his brain clicked at the petulant tone. He knew that voice. He’d known that voice for more than a lifetime. But what? How? Eliot’s brain felt like it was stalling out.
“Quentin?” Eliot’s voice was quiet and scratchy, barely there as he took half a second to process what his heart already knew.
“Quentin Coldwater?” That was stronger, edging towards a normal tone of voice, even if there was a faint bit of hysteria under it but it got the attention of the body curled into his lap and then from under his lashes Quentin Coldwater’s big brown eyes were looking up at him.
“El-” He breathed, looking astonished.
Fuck, that was it, Eliot was gone. He didn’t even have to think, reaching his hand around the back of Quentin’s neck and tilting him into a kiss.
A little noise of surprise came out of the man in his lap before he melted into it, shifting his body until he was straddling Eliot, and deepening the kiss, well past the closemouthed oh, it’s you Eliot had started out with.
A squawk came from the floor, followed by a slightly less disgruntled sigh. Slightly, not much. Charlton didn’t do subtle.
Quentin frowned into the kiss, the worry line between his eyebrows coming back but clearly not concerned enough with the other person in the room to do anything about it despite the disgruntled noises, and Eliot absolutely wasn’t going to. Quentin was here. Quentin was in his arms, in his life again, and he didn’t care what kind of bureaucratic mix-up the Underworld might be having, he didn’t care what deals Julia, or Alice, or who the fuck ever might have made, he was going to keep kissing this man as long as Q would let him, and then Eliot wasn’t letting him out of his sight ever again because Quentin was alive.
Which is when Eliot’s not so imaginary friend on the floor ‘ahem-ed’ loudly.
Quentin and Eliot just kissed harder.
Charlton ‘ahem-ed’ even louder and cleared his throat for good measure.
Quentin pulled back a little, and let out a puff of a happy sigh on Eliot’s lips, before kissing him again briefly and pulling away. Eliot chased him with his lips, not letting him pull away. Nothing was more important than this. He pressed even closer, kissing Quentin again, and again, and again, and somewhere in between soft kisses, bringing their lips together like magnets, he started murmuring Q’s name and endearments that had once been the practice of a lost lifetime. Baby, Love, Q, Q, Q-
“Eliot.”
Charlton.
Eliot kept ignoring him. Charlton could wait. Quentin couldn’t. Besides, Charlton had been inside his head, this couldn’t be a surprise to him.
But then Quentin pulled away, farther than Eliot could follow. Well no. He could probably bend Q almost in half and still be able to kiss him. Their height difference had always been the gift that kept on giving. But now Q wasn’t just pulling away he was pushing, both his hands on Eliot’s chest. Eliot whined as he opened his eyes, drinking in Quentin just a few inches from his face.
“Eliot.” Quentin was staring, looking awed. Eliot knew just how he felt.
“Q.”
“What did you do?” Eliot frowned. His brain kicked back in, beyond cataloguing Quentin. Who was thinner than he had been, shorter hair, deeper dark circles bruised under his eyes.
“What do you mean? You’re here.” His voice wobbled embarrassingly on the last word. Quentin’s expression softened even further, looking like he was about the cry.
“I know. That’s what I mean.”
Eliot swallowed, still drinking him in. He lifted his hands to cradle Quentin’s face, smoothing his thumbs over Q’s cheekbones. “I really wish I could take credit for this Q, but I have no idea how you’re here.”
“He’s telling the truth you know.” Charlton’s voice grated through their little bubble, and Quentin turned to look at the other man in the room, Eliot’s hand’s dropping from his face to his throat with Quentin’s movement. But Eliot’s eyes stayed on Q, even as Charlton rambled on about how Eliot couldn’t have brought Quentin back because he’d been with Charlton. At the Cottage. Who talks with audible punctuation anyways? But the longer Charlton babbled the more Quentin seemed to accept that this wasn’t a figment of his imagination.
“Who are you?”
Eliot sighs and drags his eyes from Quentin’s face to watch the disaster of the two brattiest men he knows try to have a conversation after both, consecutively, making out with him.
“I’m Charlton.”
“Who?”
“Charl-ton.” Charlton elongated his name as if that would help Quentin remember even though they had never met. Instead, looking bewildered, Quentin turned to Eliot for some kind of context.
“The Monster’s original host.” He explained, nonplussed. Quentin’s eyebrows shot up.
“Uh, no?” He argued, and frowned.
“I met the Monster’s original host remember? Like, just before you shot him.”
“Yes. That was me.” Charlton answered pettily.
“No it wasn’t.” Quentin answered slowly.
“Yes, it was.”
“Okay!” Eliot interrupted, “Yes it was Charlton. No, it wasn’t Charlton in the body he’s in right now. That’s not the most important thing right now.”
Quentin shut his eyes, clearly taking a second to decide whether he had to engage with the current crazy.
Eliot gave Charlton a hard look before softening and turning all his attention back to Quentin. “Q? How are you here?”
“He’s already said he doesn’t know.” Charlton’s pettiness was not helping and Eliot was really starting to get irritated. Charlton knew him, he knew his mind, and he was being whiny right now? Charlton was deluding himself if thought this didn’t change everything. Including who belonged in his bed. If Quentin was an option he was the only option, always. So long as Q still wanted him too.
“Um. Sorry. Were you two..? Were you about to?” Quentin trailed off, starting to register where he landed and where Charlton must have been when he landed. The state of Charlton and Eliot’s clothes is a bit of a giveaway as to what they were doing in that position too.
“Yes.” Charlton answered primly, “We were about to fuck.”
Eliot shut his eyes, exasperated. What a moment for Charlton to get that word right.
“Oh. Um, shit. Sorry.” Quentin started getting up from his lap and Eliot didn’t even think. Eyes flying open he dropped his hands to Quentin’s hips and dragged him back onto his lap. Almost overbalancing them onto the bed.
“No.” Eliot was pretty sure he startled all of them with how loudly he said it. He was quieter this time, but just as firm, “No. You’re not going anywhere.”
Eliot realized he was probably bruising Quentin’s hips under his grip, and gentled his hands. His voice changed again. Not panicked, or commanding, but pleading to Quentin,
“Not if you’re… Not if there’s even a chance…”
“Lovely as this has been to watch I think it’s time I interrupted.” An unfamiliar voice came from the doorway, and Eliot had heaved Quentin off his lap and onto the bed beside him so he was mostly between Quentin and their new addition before even consciously registering the movement. Eliot’s hands were free to cast as he took in the new… man?
He wasn’t that tall but enormously imposing, with his wings taking up the entire doorway, and handsome? Eliot was in love, not dead. He still had eyes.
The man gave a slight smile and waggled his fingers in Quentin and Eliot’s direction. It was so unexpected Eliot blinked and looked back at Quentin to see if he had any idea who this was, but Quentin looked as baffled as he was.
“Do we know each other?” Quentin asked.
“Oh no. But I’ve kept up with the two of you. Honestly I wish I could take credit for that.” The man gestured with one finger at both of them.
“Credit for what?” Eliot’s voice was even. Not even hinting at the worry thrumming through him that someone might take Quentin away.
The man smiled, “The way the two of you love.”
Which left Eliot blinking in confusion, and more than a bit offended. But the man had already turned away from them to their unwanted third. Or, unneeded first? Eliot wasn’t quite sure how to classify the situation with Charlton right now.
“Hello Love.” The winged man said to Charlton.
Eliot could physically feel the shock registering in his body. He’d been under the impression anyone who’d known Charlton, let alone loved him, had died centuries ago. Ditto with Hyman. He desperately hoped Charlton wasn’t being mistaken right now for a hundred year old perv.
But judging from his face he wasn’t. Charlton looked petrified. Like if he had the presence of mind to handle a crisis his flight instinct would have kicked in and he’d already be jumping out the window. Their guest’s wings notwithstanding his obvious ability to follow.
“It’s been a very long time.” The other man said gently. He hadn’t even moved from the doorway, clearly trying to give Charlton some space. It was the only reason Eliot was still mostly calm. Quentin was his priority but he didn’t want anything to actually happen to Charlton. They were friends, kind of. Insomuch as you can be friends with your personal Jiminy Cricket carrying an unsubtle torch who’s literally shared your mind as you’ve walked through all your most traumatic memories.
Charlton swallowed and visibly pulled himself together.
“Father. I- I did not expect you.”
Eliot felt Quentin’s shock like a reverberation of his own. Father?
“Hmm. Well, I could hardly reach you whilst you were still in the unconscious of a mortal, but now,” He looked Charlton up and down clinically, like a parent evaluating a teenager’s new fashion faux-pas, “This body should do you just fine. Even if it isn’t your own.”
Charlton frowned. Petulantly he crossed his arms, “I liked my body. I put effort into it.”
Clearly Charlton was getting over the initial shock.
His father smiled indulgently, and maybe a bit condescendingly, “I know you did dear.”
“Sorry, but what the fuck?” Quentin sounded almost as pissed off as confused at this point.
The angel-man sighed, turning back to them, “My apologies. There are two reunions happening in this room and ours is not more important though certainly more overdue.”
“Not more important? It’s been a millennia!” Charlton yelled at his father, uncrossing his arms to stand straight. He looked about two seconds away from stomping his foot like an actual two year old.
His father sighed, and continued to address Eliot and Quentin.
“My apologies for my son. We’ll be out of your hair in a moment. Shall we Charlton?
“Wait, wait, wait, you can’t just leave.” Quentin started climbing over Eliot to get involved. Eliot slipped his arm around Quentin’s waist and yanked him back until Q was half on the bed behind him and half on Eliot’s lap.
“Eliot let go.” He mumbled, still squirming to get closer to the conversation.
“No.” Eliot didn’t even try to lower his voice. But he did turn to the two other men in the room, still holding onto Quentin tightly (though the Quentin seemed to be squirming to get comfortable now that he was fully back in Eliot’s lap and no longer on the outside of the conversation) and asked,
“I agree with Q though. An explanation would be nice. Spontaneous resurrections don’t just happen, especially not at the exact same moment the dad of a guy who’s been possessed for like three thousand years drops by to say hi.”
The winged man stopped and looked at Eliot, who suddenly felt like he’d made a terrible mistake as his lizard brain clued him in that this was the way small animals feel when they catch the eye of something with very sharp teeth.
The man smiled, it wasn’t a nice smile.
“I, am Eros. And I can always take back the resurrection if you prefer?” Eliot’s hands tightened on Quentin again. Softly Quentin’s hand ran over Eliot’s knuckles, and wrist, up this sleeve, and then back down again, obviously trying to calm him down but without protesting the obvious possessiveness of his grip. Which, in any other situation would leave Eliot thrilled, but in this particular moment still wasn’t enough to unclench his arm from around this man. He was threatening to take Q away.
“No, that’s um, that’s okay. Thanks for bringing me back.” Quentin spoke up from Eliot’s arms. “But can you maybe give us a little context? This seems maybe just a bit sudden? Especially for, um, the god of Love?”
“He’s not the god of Love.” Charlton sounded beyond peeved, “That’s grandmama. He’s just a messenger. And a meddler. And-”
Eros cut him off, “-And also a god of Love. Just not the only one.”
Charlton hphm-ed prissily again.
Eliot turned to Charlton, he needed to clarify. “So what you’re saying Charlton is that you’re the son, and grandson, of not one but two Love gods, and you were also the Monster’s host for like three-thousand years? For what? Fun?”
“Oh fuck no.”
Eros scrunched up his nose at Charlton’s swearing, “Language.”
“Father.” Charlton even whined like a child. How old was he mentally? Did kids of gods age differently? That was an incredibly uncomfortable train of thought considering what they’d been doing ten minutes ago and Eliot shut it down quickly.
“I wanted to meet something like me. Gods-” He glared at his father, “do not have the explanation for everything. I wanted to find something I could relate to. Something that knows what it is to be god –adjacent.” He looked uncomfortable at the last word, like he’d eaten something he didn’t like.
“So, you went looking for the Monster?” Quentin sounded confused.
“Yes.” Charlton answered primly. “My mistake of course was not introducing myself properly at first. He mistook me for a human, and well, considering how much effort I put into building my body, it’s really quite flattering, but possessing a non-natural entity meant my body of course lasted eons longer for him than it should have.”
“Wait.” Eliot interrupted, “You’re telling me that not only was my very human body going to die, probably soon, but that you had a way for something god-adjacent, something like the Monster, to build a new body, and you let him stay in mine?”
Quentin’s hand stopped running up and down his arm in comfort. His body locked up.
Charlton only frowned a little. Like Eliot had presented him with the wrong reaction.
“Yes. Things seemed to be in hand. Your friends were helping and I finally had someone to talk to. They were working on getting a new body, and honestly at that pace they were probably going to get there before the Monster wore out yours. It seemed convenient. To stay. With you. In your Happy Place, which honestly was so much more interesting than mine. It’s not like I had another body on hand either. And besides,” his tone went back to whiny, “do you know how boring it was to be trapped alone for a millennia?”
The betrayal roared through Eliot. Obliterating normal, rational thought and muting whatever was still coming out of Charlton’s mouth.
Eliot came back to himself by degrees. Somewhere in the background Charlton’s father sounded like he was scolding him, but it was the feeling of Quentin starting to shake in his lap that registered with Eliot.
He rubbed his hand up and down Quentin’s back. It wasn’t enough, especially as the shaking got worse. If this was going to turn into a panic attack Eliot needed to do something now but he just couldn’t. He felt like he’d transcended past panic. The feeling of Quentin grabbing his free hand for comfort registered, but Eliot couldn’t do more than squeeze back. Then Q spoke.
“So you possessed Eliot for months. With the Monster.” Oh. Oh. Quentin wasn’t panicking. He was mad. That was an angry voice. It was a calm angry voice. Which might be worse.
“Possessed isn’t quite accur-”
“Oh shut the fuck up! You hijacked his body without consent and used it to get what you want. That’s a pretty crystal fucking clear example of possession to me.”
“Quentin. Stop.” Eros sounded somber, and a lot more god-like than the other deities they’d been dealing with. “We have made mistakes. As my son has already noted gods are not infallible.”
Charlton snorted and crossed his arms, clearly in agreement. Eros ignored him.
“But, we are still gods. Just because I could not help you with the Monster does not mean I could not help now. And yes,” He cut off Quentin who was opening his mouth to interject, “it may be self serving. I get my son back, and hopefully he will move on quickly from the man he has become attached to, since Mr. Waugh is clearly no longer romantically available. But to be clear, I could have left you in the Underworld. I can still return you there.”
Eliot’s heart couldn’t fucking take this.
“Your resurrection is a thank you. It has no strings attached, not hidden caveats. But amongst my pantheon it was strongly argued that the best thanks we could give you would be eternal rest. Would you prefer this?"
The sound Eliot made wasn’t human. Soft and wounded, like something trying to breathe without lungs, but his objection was loud enough to be noticed and Quentin turned to him.
Eliot had no idea what his expression was doing, but he knew his hands were holding Quentin too tight. As he looked down at the man in his lap he found the words that hadn’t actually made it out as words in protest the first time.
“Please. Please stay. I love you. I know I didn’t say it before, when I should have-” Eliot was rambling, not like how he would’ve wanted to do this, but he couldn’t stop. If this was the only chance he was going to have to say something it was coming out, “I don’t care if we got fifty years, we deserve another fifty. Here. Where there’s no question it’s our choice. Because we’re not stuck together. Because I would choose you, every time. I lied before, I wanted you to have an out, you deserved to find someone better. But I love you, and if you still-” He couldn’t finish, strangling the idea Quentin didn’t love him before it was voiced. Not that the entire room hadn’t head it anyways.
Quentin’s face crumpled. Eyebrows pulling together over his big eyes, his pouty mouth pulling down, he looked like he was about to cry.
“Oh El.” Quentin’s hands slipped up Eliot’s body, one coming to rest on the left side of his chest, the other slipping behind his neck, guiding and reassuring, in the way he usually did for Quentin, and pulling him down so their foreheads touched.
They stayed like that for one breath, and then another, eyes locked.
Quentin’s thumb rubbed back and forth comfortingly along his hairline.
“Then you’ll stay.” Eros’ voice was clear as a bell.
Quentin didn’t even bother to look at him as he spoke, keeping his eyes on Eliot.
“Yeah, I will.” His lips twitched up at the end just a little. Like he wanted to offer Eliot a reassuring smile but couldn’t quite get it onto his face.
Eliot’s relief crashed through him like a tidal wave. He fell into Quentin, hiding his face in his shoulder so the tears wouldn’t be so obvious, and wrapped his arms entirely around the smaller man.
Somewhere else in the room he could hear Eros saying something patronizing but overall it sounded like he was okay with this development. Charlton was whining, clearly not okay with it, and on they went bickering.
But Quentin’s broad hand was still on the back of his neck, his thumb still rubbing along Eliot’s hairline, and Eliot just needed a second to stay here, buried in Quentin’s shoulder and cry just a little.
It took Charlton’s tone changing from something whiny, to outright distressed for Eliot to raise his tear-blurred eyes from Quentin.
“I don’t want to go home!”
Eros just sighed. Clearly this was what they’d been arguing about, and Eliot was done for today. He wanted them gone. He was thankful to Eros, and still pissed at Charlton, but his emotional bandwidth was wrung out, his eyeliner was definitely smudged with tears, and all he wanted was to shut the door and curl around Q, and to never have to deal with another god ever again.
So he may have been less than sensitive to Charlton’s feelings when he blurted out, “What the actual fuck Charlton? Go home. You literally told me your worst memory was the day you left home because you left home.”
“Is that true?” Eros looked delighted.
“I-” Charlton choked.
“Yes it’s true. Eros thank you, seriously. This is. More than I would’ve even known to ask for.” He switched his focus to the other side of the room, “Charlton, go home. He’s right. I’m not available. I’m in love with Quentin and have been for years.” There was a surprised noise from his lap, “The door I had to go through in my worst memory? My greatest regret? The door we spent ages looking for while the Monster was killing my body? Yeah, it was the day I rejected Quentin.”
Eliot closed his eyes for a moment and took a breath, making sure the next words would really sink in. “I’m so angry with you Charlton, and right now I don’t want to see you. After what you apparently put us through I don’t think I ever want to see you again.”
Charlton frowned and opened his mouth to argue but it was Eros who spoke.
“Fair enough. We’re going, but-” He reached out for his son and snagged a sleeve before turning back to level them with a blinding smile. “-all the best to you both. There will be another thank you arriving in a few minutes, after all you aren’t the only two who deserve another chance. I hope,” He paused, and his smile became something genuine, looking at the two of them still clinging to each other, “I truly hope, you get another lifetime together as long and as happy as the last.”
And then they were gone.
And Quentin was still here.
“Your greatest regret?”
Eliot’s laugh was choked up with tears, but it was genuine, “Yeah.”
From downstairs there came a banging crash, and then the sound of shattering glass followed by, “Jesus Christ what the fuck!”
Quentin and Eliot both looked at the door, then at each other in shock.
Penny?