Queliot

Honest Truth

Summary: Eliot gets the truth key from Julia and sees how far he's really fallen for Quentin, now he just had to make sure Q never gets the chance to touch the key, know the honest truth. 

Eliot couldn't remember a time before he had this, weight on his chest. It poked at his ribs with sharp elbows and whenever he tried to let it out it sliced at his gums with jagged fingernails. He just remembered is body feeling like a betrayal, when really it was his mind, rotting, puss oozing out of it.

The key was different though. It wasn't masking anything, it was taking it away, complete objectivity. It was like being the fox for the first time, nothing else mattered but what was right in front of him.

But when he was a fox he watched everything else. He watched as people, played, fucked right in front of him, because he was too afraid of what was gonna happen after.

"Q, don't touch the key."

"Why?"

"It makes you feel sick and, see things you shouldn't."

"I don't get it El, why are you scared of me touching it?"

"Just don't okay?" His voice croaked a little when he said it. He was so used to remaining sauve under any influence, Q was one he never expected.

Quentin retired to the sofa, sitting cross legged as the engulfed chapter after chapter of what the quest had in store. Well, he wasn't actually sure how long it was, he hadn't read it yet.

"Shit El! You need to read the book!"
Eliot gave a quick nodd and sat next to him, careful to keep his distance. It felt stiff, sitting up to straight. It didn't stop Quentin from leaning into him.

"It's about this knight and his daughter and the witch sent her on an epic quest!.."

Eliot wasn't paying much attention. He loved when Q got like this, when he believed in something. But the problem was he loved it.

His sexuality wasn't a thing he tended to pay much mind too after he left home. He wasn't exactly ashamed of it, he wasn't gonna off himself over it or anything. But it was just sex, meaningless flings that never went anywhere. That was until he dared to love, and he killed him. It was loving he was scared of, ashamed of. He couldn't tell what to blame it on, so it fell to himself by default.

Quentin finished his story, it wasn't very long and Eliot got the gist.

"Why are you still holding the key?"

"Huh?"

"I thought I made you sick, that's why you didn't want me to touch it."
His mouth went dry, he felt his fingers twitching and a compulsive awareness of his own tongue.

When Q grabbed it from his hand he saw wonder his eyes. It wasn't happiness, it was that and everything else. He knew Q saw. All his pride, his fear, his acceptance and lack of patience. He hadn't loved Q since the first moment he saw him, that's how he fell for all those other boys. Q was something that would beat him into the ground with how much he wanted him and a star struck fantasy that would reduce that pile of rubble to a warm pool on the ground.

Quentin leaned in first, he had to crawl, falling over himself to get to Eliots island he had carved out for himself.
Eliot expected it all to go away when they kissed. All his shame, all his hate, replaced with that objective truth. It didn't, instead they saw each other for who they really were.

Eliot felt everything Quentin did. He barely could comprehend were he was and he felt like his brain was being drenched in saltwater. Quentin was shaking at how deep he could feel and was compulsively grinding his teeth.
"Q?"

"I'm sorry"

"For what?"

"Not telling you it was okay."

"What, you knew?"

"I wasn't ready for it, I'm not sure if I am. It was before with Alice. Before I realized how bad it was."

"Q you loved her, you don't have to minimize that for me."

He took the younger boy in his arms as he sobbed. He was still feeling all of it, all of what Eliot had repressed for years, and Quentin hadn't been able to fathom. It ran deep in his brain, seeping out into his limbs like a liquid fire.

They stayed as such, when Margo came in she didn't ask questions. She didn't ask anymore when they weren't holding hands at dinner either, or when they made it their sole objective not to touch. Like each finger would ignite a spark that would create a thunderstorm around them. She didn't ask until she found Quentin drinking in the stairwell, so many months after she had taken Eliot for dead.

'Peaches and Plums motherfucker'