Chapter Text
Eliot
Quentin squeezes Eliot’s hand as dessert is brought out. Eliot shoots him a distracted smile, focusing on the platter Tick is carrying. Everything looks just as he left it in the kitchen an hour ago, as it damn well should be. He doubts that Fogg could have broken through the stasis charm he left on the pastries, but you never know in Fillory.
“Just—” Eliot stands up, ignoring Quentin’s attempt to pull him back into his seat. “I’ll get it,” he tells Tick, who frowns as the tray levitates out of his hands. “These are very delicate,” Eliot mutters as he carefully floats the tray of pastries to the center of the table.
“Oooh, those are pretty,” Fen said, leaning forward in her chair. “They look like roses! But they’re apples?”
“Apple rose puffs,” Eliot says, levitating two of the elegant, rosebud shaped desserts onto a plate, which he then sets in front of Ted. “Guest of honor gets the first bite,” he says, as Ted grins up at him.
“This just looks too nice to eat, Eliot,” Ted says, looking down at his plate.
Next to Fen, Margo snorts. “First time he’s ever heard that,” she mutters, and Eliot shoots her a glare. She rolls her eyes, clearing her throat. “It looks amazing, El. Really, you didn’t have to make dessert.”
“He definitely didn’t,” Josh says under his breath, reaching out with his hands and picking up one of the puff pastries. “Not as nice as the chocolate lava cakes I had planned.”
“Not nearly as pedestrian,” Eliot says, levitating another dessert onto a plate, which he places in front of Quentin, who smiles up at him. Josh is lucky Eliot let him handle dinner; it was only Ted’s first visit to Fillory and Eliot wants everything to be perfect.
“Looks amazing,” Quentin says. He reaches up and touches Eliot’s arm— “Sit down; eat with us.”
“Um,” Julia pipes up from next to Quentin, “Slide one of those over here first. Two of them. I mean. If there’s enough.”
Eliot quickly hovers three pastries onto a plate and sends them over to her. She smiles and scoops one up, her eyes rolling back in her head as she bites into it. “God, it’s so good,” she says, wiping at the crumbs on her lower lip.
“Really El, you should cook more often,” Fen says around a mouthful of pastry.
“Hey,” Josh says, indignant. “Sitting right here.”
“You know I love your food,” Fen says, nudging Josh with her shoulder. “I just want Eliot’s…” she pauses, her eyes wide as she looks between Eliot and Ted, “Um, Quentin’s dad to know how much we appreciate your cooking.”
“Thanks, Fen,” Quentin says, his hand moving under the table to rest on Eliot’s knee. Eliot slides his palm over Quentin’s, threading their fingers together. His touch is comforting and electric all at once, and Eliot can’t help but lean a little closer to him. “Dad’s more than familiar with Eliot’s cooking.”
“It’s all so good,” Ted says, reaching for another pastry. “Really, everything here has been amazing. From some of the stories Quentin told me, I was almost worried Fillory might be too rough for an old man like me.”
“Oh, we have plenty of old men here! Women too,” Fen says, laughing. “Really your odds of survival are the best here in the castle, with the stone walls and guards and everything. It’s completely safe!” She frowns, and then continues, “Well, except for that time that everyone tried to kill each other when the thrones were cursed. Oh, or when Eliot was almost assassinated. Or when—”
“Quentin,” Margo interrupts loudly, just as Eliot is starting to squeeze Quentin’s hand a bit too tightly, “I’m going to make some changes to the back entryway.”
Quentin’s hand spasms in Eliot’s, and Eliot looks down to see him frowning at Margo. “What kind of changes?” Quentin asks.
Margo has a gleam in her eye when she glances at Eliot, and he sends out a quick ‘thank you’ to his Bambi. “Oh, you know,” Margo says nonchalantly. “Get rid of all that ugly rock. Put in a beach. We can enchant the waterfall to make it real lagoon-like. Maybe repurpose the gazebo into one of those floating mini-bars.” She leans over until her shoulder is pressed against Fen’s. “When Fen and I need a little vacation time, we can just go out back.” Fen smiles at her, her cheeks turning slightly pink.
Quentin reacts just as Eliot thought he would, that cute little furrow appearing between his eyebrows as his mouth drops open. “Margo, you can’t—it’s not—I agree that space can use some renovations, but I was thinking like, stairs and a deck, not sand. You can’t just turn it into a beach; it would take forever to work out permanent weather spells, not to mention the history in that spot—”
Margo shoves her chair back loudly, reaching an arm out in Quentin’s direction. Julia shoots Eliot a smile as she also stands, while Fen and Josh watch, no doubt wondering what’s going on. “With magic, we can do whatever we want,” Margo says, walking towards Quentin, who watches her warily. Eliot squeezes Quentin’s hand, and Quentin turns to him.
“El, tell her she can’t change the waterfall.” His voice is small and he has the most delightful pout on his face, and Eliot nearly cracks and tells him it’s all a distraction. But they have a plan, and if Eliot wants a few minutes alone with Ted, he has to follow through.
“I would never let her change the waterfall,” Eliot says, and Quentin’s shoulders relax. “But I can’t argue a few scenic improvements would be nice.” Quentin immediately scowls, and Eliot swipes his thumb over Quentin’s knuckles.
“Come with me, Q, let me walk you through my vision.” Margo pauses by their chairs, turning to Eliot, “El, why don’t you go show Ted his bedroom? I’m sure he wants to relax after being dragged all over Fillory.”
“Of course.” Eliot jumps up, smirking as Josh snags the last apple rose puff from the tray. Quentin stands with him, and Eliot brushes his lips over Quentin’s forehead. “Hurry back, love.”
Quentin’s scowl disappears as he beams up at Eliot, and then he turns to Ted. “You good, Dad?”
Ted nods, pushing his chair back. “I’ll be fine, son. Just don’t let me set the place on fire by falling asleep with a torch on or something.”
“No reason to worry about that,” Eliot says. Quentin gives him another small smile before turning back to Margo, who’s guiding him out of the dining room. Julia shoots Eliot a wink and mouths the words ‘Good luck’ to him before following Margo and Quentin away.
Eliot straightens his collar before turning to Ted. “Your room is down the hall from me and Q.” He nods at Josh and Fen before walking out of the dining hall with Ted.
Now that he’s alone with Ted, the nerves start to hit. He’s spent the day so focused on making sure everything was perfect for Ted’s introduction to Fillory, he hasn’t had time to think about this conversation he’s about to have. Which was by design, really. He’s already talked to Margo about it so much she told him if he didn’t take care of it the first night Ted was here, she would do it for him.
Which he’d actually considered, for about ten seconds.
He knows he shouldn’t be nervous, not tonight. The first time he saw Ted after that disastrous barbecue—that was when he should have been nervous. And he had been nervous. And terrified. Even though Quentin had assured him a thousand times over that Ted wasn’t angry, Eliot was sure Ted would glare at him the moment he stepped over the threshold. That Ted would look at him and only see the man that had broken his son’s heart. A man that didn’t deserve the second chance Quentin was giving him.
Eliot had followed Quentin through the yellow door, and Ted had smiled at him just as warmly as he had the first time Eliot had met him. Eliot stuck his hand out for a handshake, and Ted grabbed it, using it to pull Eliot into a hug. “Welcome back,” he said as he patted Eliot on the back. “I picked up more of that wine for you. Since Bev hogged it all last time.”
Eliot had chuckled, meeting Quentin’s eyes over Ted’s shoulder, and he’d known that everything was going to be okay. They took Ted out to dinner, to his favorite restaurant—Red Lobster. Which, even Eliot could appreciate a cheesy biscuit.
“So is Fillory everything you thought it would be?” Eliot asks, willing his heart to stop freaking out. It’s just a conversation. Talking is your superpower. One of them, anyway.
“It’s incredible,” Ted says as they pass through the stone halls. He does a double take as two squirrels pass them in the hallway, chittering away. “Beautiful. You really can’t believe it until you see it. But,” he says, looking up at Eliot, “don’t you miss electricity? Modern bathrooms. I can’t imagine you have an ice cream maker in the kitchen here.”
Eliot chuckles, some of the tension leaving his body. “True. Magic helps fill in some of the gaps, and we’re working to bring in what we can from Earth, but—it’s slow going.” They walk around a corner, down the hallway towards his room. “You’re always welcome here. Quentin’s been looking forward to this for weeks.”
That’s an understatement. Quentin’s been bouncing off the walls ever since Ted agreed to visit, talking about taking Ted to fish on the Silver Banks, pick fruit from the Southern Orchard, visit the Centaurs, and go to Chatwin’s Torrent. Eliot and Julia had to remind him that 75% of the time, Fillory wants to eat or murder you, and maybe they should stick to the castle grounds for his first visit. Quentin had reluctantly agreed, but Eliot was pretty sure he was going to find himself fishing off the Muntjac before the week was out.
Ted smiles as he looks up at Eliot, “Now that Quentin lives here, I’m sure I’ll visit often. Don’t want to bother you boys too much, though—I know you’re busy.”
“We’re never too busy for you. Here’s your room.” He opens the wooden door, watching Ted’s face as he takes it in.
It’s one of the smaller rooms; it wasn’t even a bedroom a week ago, instead being used for random storage. Eliot imagines that at one point it was a servant’s quarters, and now it’s one of the most tasteful guest chambers in the castle. In his humble opinion.
Windows line one wall, displaying a magnificent view of the sun beginning to set over the Silver Banks, turning the sky into a canvas of pinks and purples and blues. The Nameless Mountains are just visible in the distance. The fireplace is ablaze with a roaring, popping fire that isn’t actually generating any heat, as it’s too warm for it, but the illusion provides the expected glow and comfort all the same. The wardrobe already has all of Ted’s belongings secured inside, and paintings of boats and landscapes (hand picked by Eliot) are artfully displayed on the wall. The bed is a simple queen size wooden frame, covered in tasteful hand-made quilts and goose down pillows.
“Wow,” Ted breathes, moving over to the windows to gaze at the view. “They don’t have views like this in New Jersey.”
“No, they don’t,” Eliot says, shutting the door softly behind him. He clears his throat, his heart starting to beat erratically in his chest. “So,” he says, reaching into his pocket and touching the velvet box he’s been carrying around for the past week, “I actually wanted to talk to you about something.”
Ted turns away from the window, moving to sit down in one of the overstuffed chairs Eliot arranged in one corner around a short coffee table. “What’s that?” he asks. “This is nice,” he says, as he settles into the chair. Eliot mentally fist pumps; he specifically selected that chair because it’s so similar to the one Ted mainly uses at home.
Eliot sits down opposite him, a smile frozen on his face. He can hear Margo’s voice in his head—What the fuck is there to be nervous about? It sounds like, despite your best efforts to fuck it up, Daddy Coldwater thinks the sun rises and sets on your ass. You sit down, tell him you want to rail his son for the rest of your life, he gives his blessing, you go get engaged. We party and celebrate.
Please don’t call him Daddy Coldwater.
Ted looks at him expectantly, and Eliot clears his throat. He’s faced gods and negotiated treaties with warring countries and faced down eyebrowless fairies; he can have a serious conversation with Ted Coldwater. He opens his mouth, closes it again, and then chuckles as he slides his palms over his thighs. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly, “this is—not a conversation I ever imagined myself having. In any reality.”
Ted’s smile is patient, and Eliot thinks, knowing. “Take your time.”
Eliot inhales, and says, “I love your son—Quentin—” he knows who his son is, very smooth— “very much.” Ted’s smile grows slightly wider as he leans forward in his chair. “The past few months with him have been—the best of my life, really. And the first time he and I were together, I wasn’t able to meet you. To ask you. Because we were in another timeline. And now that I have met you and gotten to know you, it’s actually pretty important to me.” He stalls out, glancing at the fire, emotion suddenly swelling up in his throat. Even after all his long talks with Quentin, the therapy sessions he’s taking down at the Southern Orchard, he can’t stop the negative thoughts that force their way in. What if he says no? And you have to slink out of here with your tail between your legs?
“What is?” Ted asks.
Cock up and use your words, Waugh. “I want to marry Quentin,” Eliot says firmly, “Again. And I was hoping you would give your blessing.” You did it! the Margo in his head says. Congratulations on using your mouth for words instead of sucking Coldwater’s dick. He forces himself to meet Ted’s gaze, clasping his hands together.
Ted’s smile grows wider, and relief starts to dissolve the anxiety in Eliot’s chest. “You have a ring?”
“Yes.” Eliot’s fingers shake only slightly as he pulls the small box out of his pocket, opening it and handing it to Ted. It’s custom-made by magicians on Earth. Eliot had started designing their rings the day Quentin told Eliot he wanted to move back to Fillory—which was the morning after Julia answered Eliot’s prayer. Eliot had been surprised; he’d been prepared to travel back and forth between Fillory and Brakebills until Quentin graduated. He was even partly sure Quentin would opt to remain on Earth with Ted, and Eliot had already been mentally practicing his speech to Margo when he broke the news that wherever Quentin wanted to be, Eliot would be too. But instead, Quentin opted to drop out of Brakebills and remain in Fillory permanently. The clock was moved to the girl's penthouse, and everyone on the Fillory side had been working on constructing a more permanent portal to Earth that didn’t involve a stroll to the forest.
“It has a few Earth materials, and some silver mined from the mountains.” Eliot gestures towards the window, and Ted turns to look, his mouth falling open.
“It’s beautiful,” Ted says, holding it up to the light. “Is it shimmering?”
“It’s enchanted,” Eliot says, watching as the torchlight glints off the ring. “There are some standard sizing and summoning charms, along with a few decorative ones that I thought added some character.”
Ted squints as he reads the engraving inside. He hands it back to Eliot, smiling. “He’s going to love it.”
Eliot slips it back inside the box, putting it back in his pocket. Then he looks back at Ted, who’s watching him thoughtfully.
“You know, Eliot,” he starts, and Eliot’s heart sinks a little bit in his chest, this doesn’t sound like an emphatic yes. Is he about to see the dark side of Ted as he delivers a shovel talk? He’s already gotten a dozen of those from Julia and Margo. Even one from Alice.
“I’ve spent Quentin’s entire life worrying about him,” Ted continues. “Worrying about if I was doing right by him, if I was pushing him too hard or not enough. Worried I’d never really see him happy. And then he came home one day and with a wave of his hand, he repaired this old plane that he’d broken years ago. And later, he told me about you.” Ted pauses, giving Eliot a significant look, and Eliot has to look away, glance at the fire as he blinks away the tears threatening to spill over.
“The way he talked about you,” Ted continues, “how his face lit up—I still worried about him, but a little less. And over these past couple of years, with the cancer and epic quests—I still worried. But knowing he had you—made it all a little easier for me to stomach.” Eliot meets Ted’s gaze, his comforting brown eyes, so much like Quentin’s.
“I know the two of you took a while to figure out what I saw the moment I met you, but Eliot—you’ve already been a member of this family for some time now. It would be an honor to make it official.” Ted smiles gently at him, and a warmth spreads through Eliot’s chest, diffusing across his entire body. He exhales slowly, swallowing down the emotions swelling up in his chest.
“And I’m not just saying that because your little lady friend flew me out to California and introduced me to Heather Locklear.”
Eliot laughs at that, wiping at the corner of one eye. Last month, Margo had decided she wanted a short vacation, and had taken him and Quentin, Fen, and Ted to Los Angeles. They introduced Fen to Disneyland (she loved it and still asks to go back near daily) and Ted to Heather Locklear, who seemed to take a shine to Ted. She’d laughed at all his dad jokes, in any case.
“Thank you, Ted,” Eliot says, relief and gratitude washing through his body. “For accepting me as I am. It’s not something I’ve gotten from many people.” Only the ones in this castle, really.
Ted smiles at him, his own eyes shiny. “When are you going to ask?”
Eliot sighs, reaching into his pocket again. “I’m not sure,” he admits, pulling the box out and passing it between his hands. “I’d like to before you leave. Usually I have a plan, but with this I’m just playing it by ear.” In their last lifetime, he’d gotten down on one knee and Teddy was there and it was a very happy moment, even if slightly dimmed by the fact that Ari was no longer with them. He was ready to do it all over again, but every idea he came up with felt wrong.
Would he take Quentin by the cliffside where they were crowned? Or to the remains of the mosaic? He wanted something small, intimate, something that just—felt right. Something Quentin would love. It’s what he deserves.
“Well, however you do it, Quentin will be thrilled,” Ted said. “And Eliot—I know you didn’t have the best childhood.” He shifts in his seat, glancing at the windows, and Eliot’s heart speeds up like it always does when his past is brought up. “Quentin’s mother and I, we—clashed a lot. About what was best for him. It upsets me to think that no one looked out for you when you were younger.” He turns to face Eliot, his expression serious. “I want you to know—anyone who ever made you feel like you’re not good enough. They’re completely wrong.”
Oh shit. Eliot can’t stop the tears from welling up then, and he laughs, because that’s his response to intense emotion, apparently. “I, uh—thank you.” He glances at the floor, blinking rapidly. “I don’t think I realized how much I needed to hear that.”
When he leaves Ted’s room a few moments later, he walks down the hall, passing his and Quentin's room, stopping at the window that overlooks the waterfall. There’s still enough light from the setting sun for him to see Quentin, Margo, and Julia down below. They’re easy to spot, as Quentin’s arms are emphatically waving as he talks to, or at, Margo. Margo’s eyes are rolling so hard he can see them from the window, and Julia’s shoulders are shaking with what Eliot assumes is laughter. Eliot looks up, and there, back behind the waterfall, he can just barely see the top of the Monkey Puzzle tree he planted a few months ago. It’s growing rapidly, faster than even Julia thought it would. She said it’s so happy here, it has no choice but to flourish.
He looks back to his loved ones down on the shore, waves of emotion washing over him as he finally lets the tears roll down his cheeks. It wasn’t all that long ago that he walked into this castle as a King married to a stranger, saying goodbye to everything he’d ever known in hopes that whatever he was waiting for him in Fillory was better than what he had back on Earth.
It took him years to realize it, but there was nothing better than what—who he had back on Earth. He was just lucky that they made the trip over with him.
As if he senses Eliot watching, Quentin glances up, waving as he sees him. Eliot smiles, glad that Quentin is too far away to see his tears. He waves back and then jerks his head back to the castle, asking if Quentin is coming back in.
Quentin nods, shooting him a smile before turning back to Margo. She nods and as Quentin and Julia turn to walk back to the castle, Margo catches his eye, one eyebrow arching up in a question. How’d it go?
Eliot shoots her a thumbs up, and she gives him a huge smile back. She mouths something up at him, but he can’t tell what it is. He assumes it’s probably, I told you so, bitch.
“You sure did,” Eliot says to himself as she walks back into the castle. He would probably still be drunk on the floor of his bedroom, where she’d found him after that disastrous barbecue at Ted’s. He’ll owe her, and Julia, for the rest of his life.
But that’s something Future Eliot will have to deal with. Present Eliot wipes his face and straightens his collar, glancing in a nearby mirror to make sure no trace of his minor emotional breakdown shows on his face. Satisfied, he turns to go find his future-fiance, the velvet box secure in his pocket.
~~~
Quentin
Quentin flops back on the bed, clad only in his boxers, his hair still damp from the closest thing he can get to a shower in Fillory. The plumbing system he and Julia spent the last month rigging up with the Fillorian engineers isn’t as nice as Earth indoor plumbing, but it’s getting close. They have one working shower with clean water, at least. Between working on that and the new permanent portal to Earth, Julia commented that she had enough material for two theses. Quentin had sent up a silent thanks that he’d left Brakebills before he had to come up with a thesis topic. Even though not getting his diploma in magic was a minor disappointment, all he had to do was remember that he had traded it for Fillory, living in Whitespire with his gorgeous boyfriend, and he got over it.
The gorgeous boyfriend in question is laying on his side, smiling at Quentin. “You think Dad’s having a good time?” Quentin asks, not for the first time that day.
“Yes,” Eliot says. “I think so.” His voice is quiet; he’s seemed distracted ever since Quentin came back inside after successfully convincing Margo not to change a damn thing about the back entryway. Well, at least not the waterfall. She’s going to put in some actual steps so she won’t ‘break a leg trying to walk out to the gazebo.’ And he would not be surprised if an outside mini bar did appear out there at some point. Along with a dance floor and adequate lighting. But whatever, the waterfall and rock shore were staying. The fight had actually gone out of Margo faster than Quentin anticipated, but he’s not going to complain about her not verbally ripping him to shreds for once.
Quentin’s mind returns to Ted, down the hall in his own room. He’s probably asleep by now, but… “You think he’s okay in his room? Should I go check on him?”
Eliot gives him a half-smile then, moving a few inches closer on the bed. He’s wearing only boxers and a loosely-belted robe, which is falling open, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of his chest and one nipple. Quentin reaches one hand out to touch Eliot’s skin, comb through his soft chest hair. Because he’s allowed to do that now. Whenever he wants. Even after months of having ‘permission,’ he still has to pinch himself sometimes to convince himself it’s not a dream. He’s really living with Eliot, sharing a bedroom with him. Has Eliot’s cock in his mouth on an almost daily schedule.
“Let the man sleep, Q. It’s not every day you visit a magical fantasy world.” Eliot loosely wraps his fingers around Quentin’s wrist, pressing his thumb against Quentin’s pulse point. Quentin scoots a little closer, slipping one hand inside Eliot’s robe to rest on the bare skin of his waist. Eliot has a point; Ted is probably snoring away. And Quentin really hasn’t thanked Eliot properly for all the work he did in preparing for Ted’s visit; organizing his room, cooking dessert, planning the activities, making sure the ferrets and the squirrels were living in harmony. At least for the next week. He needs to thank Eliot. Profusely.
He’s about to slide his hand into the waistband of Eliot’s underwear when Eliot says, “Hey, you remember that first night we slept at your dad’s? For your birthday?”
Quentin’s hand stills on Eliot’s waist, his other arm bending at the elbow to support his head as he gives Eliot his best side-eye. Does he remember that night? The night after he’d spent an entire day pretending to be Eliot’s boyfriend, ending in one of his top ten orgasms of all time?
“Yes,” he says, wondering why Eliot is bringing that up. Eliot is looking at him with an unreadable expression on his face, and Quentin can’t tell if Eliot is going to kiss him or tell him he has toothpaste on his face. “I remember. Most of it. Why?”
“Before you fell asleep,” Eliot says, reaching over to tuck Quentin’s hair behind his ear, letting his fingers drift down Quentin’s jaw. “You told me I could kiss you whenever I want.”
Quentin feels a smile pull at his lips as love swells up in his chest. “I don’t remember that,” he says honestly. That night is a blur of hands and lips and orgasms and emotion. “But it sounds like something I’d say. Because it’s true.” He leans forward, sliding his hand over Eliot’s heart as he gently presses his lips against Eliot’s.
When Eliot pulls back, his eyes are soft, and his heartbeat suddenly accelerates under Quentin’s hand. “Can you open the drawer of the nightstand? I need you to grab something for me,” Eliot asks.
Quentin turns and pulls open his drawer; it’s basically turned into his keepsake drawer. Besides the few odds and ends that he brought over from his dad’s house and Brakebills, and his favorite lube, the drawer also holds The Wizard of Oz that Eliot had given to him, the rock from the coronation ceremony, his pocket watch from his dad, a beat-up copy of Sweet Valley High (Julia put it there), and three very old clay tiles. Julia had taken Eliot and Quentin to the current mosaic site about a month after Quentin moved to Fillory. The cottage was nearly overgrown with weeds and wisteria, but the mosaic was still in good condition. Quentin had grabbed the tiles to bring back with them, along with a few quilts and other keepsakes they managed to salvage.
And nestled right on top of the tiles is a small, black, velvet box.
Quentin’s heart drops to his stomach as he stares at it. No way, he thinks. There is no way that is what he thinks it is. “El?” he asks in a small voice, twisting around to look at him.
Eliot is sitting up in bed, his robe undone, his eyes shining. “The jewelry box, please.”
Quentin turns back and picks it up; it’s soft against his trembling fingers. He sits up as he turns back to Eliot, heat rushing to his face. His mouth opens and closes, but no words come out. All he can do is look between Eliot’s face and the little box while his heart tries to burst out of his chest.
“I’ve loved you for a long time, Q,” Eliot says as he looks at the little box, turning it over in his hands. “Longer than I’ve been alive, technically. I almost lost you too many times. And I’m not going to let it happen again.” Eliot exhales, giving Quentin a small smile. “I know you like having something you can hold. To remember the important moments,” he says, his voice low. “I figured I’d get you something you could wear.” And he opens up the box, revealing a gorgeous silver ring that shines in the torchlight. “I always want to kiss you. And I’d like to, every day, for the rest of my life.”
Quentin drags his gaze from the ring to Eliot’s face, and a memory flashes in his mind. Eliot standing under the dense cover of the evergreen trees surrounding the mosaic, the setting sun casting a golden hue over Eliot’s face, his eyes radiating the same happiness Quentin sees in them right now.
“Marry me?” Eliot asks, his voice soft and vulnerable. A touch of apprehension appears in his eyes, like this isn’t the very thing Quentin has been dreaming of for fucking years, and Quentin launches himself at Eliot, climbing in his lap and kissing his mouth, his cheeks, anywhere he can reach.
“Oh my god,” Quentin says, his hands in Eliot’s hair, holding him hard and fast. “Yes. Of course yes, you—oh my god. I love you so much.” He kisses Eliot again, and then throws his arms around him, burying his face in his neck.
“This is real, right? Not like, faking it for my dad or something?” Quentin jokes.
Eliot wraps his arms around him, his chin on Quentin’s shoulder, and hugs him tightly. “I never faked anything with you, Q,” Eliot whispers. “I love you.”
Quentin laughs, tears welling up in his eyes. “I thought it would be a while before you wanted this,” he says. “That you’d want to live together for a while to make sure.”
Eliot’s laugh comes out a half-broken sob, and Quentin gently pulls away. He’s surprised to see that Eliot’s cheeks are even more tear-stained than his must be, and he gently wipes the tears away with his thumbs.
“I’ve been sure since the moment you asked me if you were hallucinating.” He gives Quentin a watery smile. “You want to see the ring? Ted said you’d like it.”
Quentin’s mouth drops open. “Dad knows? Oh my god am I the last to know that I was getting engaged tonight?”
“No, my love,” Eliot says, opening the box. Quentin holds out his left hand, and as Eliot slides it on, he says, “I didn’t even know I was doing this tonight until maybe ten minutes ago. I heard you coming in from the shower and I just—couldn’t let another night go by without—”
“Locking this dick down?” Quentin says, staring at the ring on his finger. It fits perfectly and shimmers in the torchlight, warm on his hand. Like it belongs there. Eliot laughs as Quentin continues, “El. It’s beautiful. Do you have one?”
“I do,” Eliot says, and the look on his face tells Quentin he’s not sure if Quentin will like that. “I thought about having you design mine, but I didn’t think—”
“Oh, god no,” Quentin says, and Eliot smiles. “I would have just made you tell me what you wanted anyway. Get it; put it on.”
He slides off Eliot’s lap so Eliot can move over to his own nightstand, pulling out another velvet box. He opens it, and a perfect replica of the ring on his finger is sitting inside the box.
“You had these made?” Quentin asks, holding his ring close to his face as Eliot pulls his out of the box. It’s clearly enchanted, made of a gleaming silver metal with a shimmering copper strip in the middle. It looks like there’s also sand mixed among the stone through the center strip; it takes Quentin’s breath away as he stares at it.
“I did,” Eliot says. “I wanted to include parts of Fillory. The metal is tungsten and silver from the Nameless Mountains. And the sand and stone in the middle comes from the cliffside where we found the crowns.” Quentin stares at Eliot, sure he’s going to burst into tears all over again. “They’re also engraved,” Eliot says quickly, like he can tell he has to get the words in before Quentin loses his shit.
Almost in a daze, Quentin pulls his ring off, reading the scripted text on the interior. “‘I choose you every day.’” And then Quentin does lose his shit, tears rolling down his face as he throws himself at Eliot again, nearly knocking him over as he hugs him. “Does yours say that too?”
“No, mine says ‘Fake it ‘til you make it.’”
“Shut the fuck up, it does not,” Quentin says, laughing and pulling away. Eliot gently wipes his tears away, and Quentin presses his forehead against Eliot’s. “I love you so fucking much.”
“I love you, too,” Eliot says, kissing him. A moment later, Eliot asks, “Do you want to go tell Ted?”
Quentin looks at Eliot. At his fiance, soon-to-be-twice-over-husband, his other half, his soulmate. The one person he’d live and die a thousand lifetimes for. “Tomorrow,” he says, sliding one hand onto the back of Eliot’s neck. “Tonight I just want you.”
He draws Eliot into a kiss, and memories flash in his mind. A thousand kisses against these same lips, over an entire lifetime, all under the same moons that are rising above them right now.
Every single one of them feels like home.
~~~