He meets Strange's tongue with a pleased, encouraging moan, crowding him back against the counter when he returns the kiss with enthusiasm.  He forgot for a second, relegating the promise to simple dirty talk, a means to an end that's already arrived. That Stephen brings them back to it feels like ice in hot oil, something stiff and uncomfortable hissing to dangerous life. The breath he sucks in at the question spits and sizzles between his teeth. "Fuck, yeah--omifuckingod." 

Quentin keeps to Stephen's mouth, butting and nipping at his lips, even as he frantically pulls at his button fly. Boy-eager, he catches Stephen by the jaw for a last, branding push into his mouth and fists his own cock out of his pants. Has to get a little barb in, wild and grinning from arousal, "Your knees okay, old man? You gonna be able to get back up?"