Eliot's inner alpha preens a bit at how Quentin moved toward him. He tugs Quentin to his feet and then presses a kiss to the top of his head. "You don't have to thank me. I intend to enjoy this." With Eliot not in rut, he might have to work to keep up, but that was a sacrifice he was thoroughly ready to make.

"I'm thinking breakfast food. Waffles and eggs and some fruit? It's quick to make and should last a while. Sound good?" Eliot asks, draping his arm across Quentin's shoulders and steering him toward the kitchen. If the move also mingled their scents and staked a temporary, obvious claim then, well, it wasn't his ONLY intention. He knew Quentin would likely appreciate the contact right now, so he had a good reason too.