[ There's no attempt to move away. There are a handful of people here that he would flinch from, but the moment Felipe touches him, Quentin completely folds. Something about the attention--the secure pressure around his body, the safety of the booth walls and Felipe's body hiding him--cracks him wide open. His crying can be felt more than heard, low keening and ragged, stuttering breathes buried in Felipe's chest. Quentin's hands cling to his clothes, scrunch and twist and shift and scrunch again.
[ For a long few minutes, he can drink it up. When the worst of it passes, Quentin makes no attempt to move, sluggish from weeping and drinking at once. Even if Felipe does loosen his grip, Quentin keeps his face turned in, still hiding. His hands splay wide against Felipe's stomach, wind around him needily. Another long while passes before he asks bitterly: ]
no subject
[ For a long few minutes, he can drink it up. When the worst of it passes, Quentin makes no attempt to move, sluggish from weeping and drinking at once. Even if Felipe does loosen his grip, Quentin keeps his face turned in, still hiding. His hands splay wide against Felipe's stomach, wind around him needily. Another long while passes before he asks bitterly: ]
Do you really need to piss?