#anyWAY thx u jamie i had SO MUCH FUN with these and i def want to finish the w359 leverage au in the future

[floralpunkbarton]

prompt buffet, pick ur fave(s)!! the magicians: quentin/margo/eliot, peaceful downtime at castle whitespire or first meeting at a club/rave/concert (think the isaac/jackson/erica scene. you know the one.) alternately, w359: magicians au, leverage au, or si5!eiffel au

Let’s go Jamie I’m psyched. So you mentioned the dance floor threesome and I am clearly living in teen wolf land so this is…okay this is quentin/margo/eliot inspired by the line eliot has about, and i’m paraphrasing, “you forget everything about magic and i find you and seduce you and make your life magical’??? pls enjoy i love these idiots. also Aley got Spicy and i had to give you SOMETHING so this is under the cut *eye emoji*

This is not Quentin’s usual scene. Far from, in fact. His usual scene oscillated between a library, a hospital, and the occasional bar magic. He would’ve cursed Jules, but her girlfriend Marina had looked so elated when Jules hugged him, that he almost couldn’t be mad. The rest of the almost was whatever upper that Marina had pushed onto his tongue was, kissing him deeply and pushing him into the crowd with a, "Good luck Bambi,” that was honestly chilling him the fuck out.

As such, he’s less freaked out than he might usually be when the…well, he thinks they’re a couple, but they not touching each other, not like that…couple dressed clearly above his station, starts dancing in his space. The woman, eyeliner sharp enough that even Quentin’s breath caught, is plastered to his front, short enough, even in heels, that her mouth keeps brushed his collar bone. Her teeth keep catching on it in a way that makes Quentin want to sink to his knees, and that’s not even accounting for this man behind him.

Quentin knows he swings both ways, its one of the few things in his life he hasn’t found time to freak the fuck out about. But he wants to freak out a little, in the good way, about the man who’s taken up residence along his back, dipping his head occasionally to mouth along Quentin’s neck. Q is at least a little bit aware that he’s being played like a fucking fiddle, but he can’t find it in him to be that mad. They’re both so, so hot, and so so out of his league, and Jules is giving him a thumbs up from where Marina is ushering her into the bathroom.

So, he keeps dancing, letting the mystery couple wind him up. He can sense the way that they’re communicating over his shoulder, and frankly, it’s hotter than it should be. Q’s always been a little into the idea of being…well being just an object that other people can use to feel good. Sometimes not making his own decisions is fucking intoxicating and he wants that so fucking bad he can taste it. He’s hoping that these two, the way they move in perfect sync, the way that they’re dressed so out of place for a downtown warehouse rave, can give him everything he secretly desires.

“You want to get out here, don’t you baby,” The man whispers in his ear, and the casual endearment makes him shiver, so inappropriate for the situation, and he tips his head back against the man’s chest, letting his eyes drift shut.

“Please,” He whispers, and the woman at his front’s eyes narrow, clearly picking up what he’s meant to remain unvoiced, He’s…he’s so fucking desperate, he knows it’s selfish and sick and stupid, but he loves being with two other people, gender be damned. There’s something comforting in not being the center of attention for one person, and frankly, limited as his experience may be, threesomes are always a preference, especially in one night stands. He…hasn’t had many one night stands.

“What’s your name,” The woman stretches up to reach his ear and Quentin whimpers. They both clearly hear it and he can’t even be embarrassed, whatever drug Marina slipped him working it’s magic. The woman bites at the underside of his jaw, “Name, precious.”

“Qunetin,” He manages to gasp, his hips twitching forward involuntarily, but the man behind holding them in place before he could so much as brush the woman, “Or-or Q. People usually,” He stopped to whimper when he felt the man’s teeth scrape across the back of his neck. He managed to gasp out, “People usually call me Q.”

“Q…cute,” The man purred in his ear, all while continuing to move with the beat, “Q, we wanna take you home…do you want that.”

Quentin could only nod, it was all he could possibly want in this moment. He wanted to be taken home. He wanted to be taken care of.

- - -

“I’m Eliot,” The man managed to say, while Quentin was on his knees, mouthing at his groin, the woman on the bed, hands tucked under her skirt in an obvious motion. Q whimpered when Eliot combed a hand through his hair to pull him back and stare in his eyes, “That’s Margo. You’re going to remember that.”

Quentin felt a couple hair follicles rip as he rushed to nod, despite Eliot’s hand fisting his hair so tightly. He gazed up at Eliot, “You’re. Eliot. She’s Margo. I’m…I’m supposed to remember. Whatever you want; I promise, please.”

An expression that Quentin couldn’t quantify flashed across Eliot’s face, before he was allowed to nuzzle back over the hard-on caged by Eliot’s pants. Quentin couldn’t stop himself as he undid Eliot’s pants, “Please, please, I’ll remember, I’ll be so good, I can remember, you’re Eliot, she’s Margo, I can remember.”

- - -

GOD THIS ENDED SO SAD I’M SO SORRY. I’M GONNA HIT THE W359 NOW TO BE LESS SAD JFC. i’m drunk and wil has helped me put on my leverage dvds let’s fuking go

- - -

“You don’t need rehab Warren,” Maxwell assures, “You need revenge.

- - -

Warren can be…single minded. He knows this as much as he knows that the amount of whiskey he imbibes is a fucking problem. As much as he knows that Eiffel is the most obnoxious person he’s ever met, but he’s also the most brilliant. As much as he knows that Hera is fucking basket case, but she can get in and out of a place in less time that it takes him to case it.

Warren hates it, but in this case Maxwel is right. He’s not going to stop drinking, no matter how much Eiffel winces, or how much Minkowski glances at him askance, he needs to punch Marcus Cutter in the fucking face.

- - -

"Was that absolutely necessary?” Maxwell asks, as they walk away from the con, and Warren grins, meanly.

“He wouldn’t have believed a handshake,” Warren says, so fucking tired, unbelievably tired.  

- - -

It’s not til later, Eiffel in the clutches of Riemann and his crew, Hera being held on a rooftop by Jacobi, Daniel’s voice in his ear in a direct counterpoint to the comfort he used to receive, Minkowski panting on the other line, “Kepler, Kepler, we’re blown,” That Warren can maybe, possibly entertain the idea that they’ve gone to far.