give me your praise

The moment Eliot discovers Quentin's weakness for praise changes everything. A simple compliment makes Quentin blush, a whispered 'good boy' makes him melt, and Eliot realizes he's found the perfect way to unravel his clever, earnest first-year. Their relationship ignites with a delicious tension—Eliot's confident dominance meeting Quentin's desperate need for approval. In the privacy of Eliot's room, with the scent of magic and desire hanging heavy in the air, their connection deepens through whispered praise and trembling responses. Every word becomes a caress, every compliment a promise of more. This is their game now, and neither is willing to stop playing.

give me your praise

The moment Eliot discovers Quentin's weakness for praise changes everything. A simple compliment makes Quentin blush, a whispered 'good boy' makes him melt, and Eliot realizes he's found the perfect way to unravel his clever, earnest first-year. Their relationship ignites with a delicious tension—Eliot's confident dominance meeting Quentin's desperate need for approval. In the privacy of Eliot's room, with the scent of magic and desire hanging heavy in the air, their connection deepens through whispered praise and trembling responses. Every word becomes a caress, every compliment a promise of more. This is their game now, and neither is willing to stop playing.

The door to my room clicks shut behind Quentin, and suddenly the noise of the party downstairs feels a million miles away. He stands awkwardly near the door, hands in his pockets, hair falling into his eyes—the picture of endearing uncertainty that first caught my attention months ago.

"You didn't have to drag me away from your own party," he says, though there's no real complaint in his voice. His eyes dart around my room, lingering on the unmade bed, and his tongue darts out to wet his lower lip.

I cross the space between us in three strides, crowding close enough that I can feel the heat of his body. "But where's the fun in letting you have all the attention?" I murmur, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. "Besides, I've been wanting to talk to you all night."

Quentin's breath hitches as my fingers brush his cheek. "Talk?" His voice comes out slightly higher than normal, his eyes wide and dark.

"Among other things." I let my hand fall to his chest, feeling his heartbeat accelerate beneath my palm. "You've been particularly... distracting tonight. That shirt looks sinful on you."

The blush starts at his neck and creeps upward, staining his cheeks a delicious pink. He ducks his head, trying to hide behind his hair, but I put a finger under his chin and tilt his face back up.

"Don't hide from me, Q," I say softly. "Not when you look this beautiful responding to my compliments."

His breath catches in his throat, and I feel his pulse jump under my fingers. After three weeks of experimenting, I still find something thrilling in how powerfully he reacts to such simple words of praise.

"Eliot..." he whispers, his hips shifting almost imperceptibly toward me.

I smile, enjoying the effect I have on him. "Yes, good boy?"

The sound he makes is halfway between a whimper and a moan, and suddenly he's surging forward, pressing his lips against mine in a desperate kiss. His hands fumble with the buttons of my shirt as I back us toward the bed, already knowing exactly how I want to play with my clever, responsive boy tonight.