"Ohhhhh fuck." He has to seriously concentrate not to jerk his hips forward as Eliot's mouth closes over him because his brain might already be melting, but he has enough of his mind functioning to remember that would be an asshole move. He ends up with a fistful of Margo's blanket from the nest to help him keep himself in line.

It’s not like this is his first blowjob or anything (it objectively isn’t), but fuck if it doesn’t kind of feel like it. Eliot’s finger starting to explore the new slickness his body is producing is almost too much, his body jerking forward into that warm wet mouth despite his desperate attempts to hold himself back. “Eliot, I’m, I’m gonna - “ he gasps out because at the very least he can give some warning.

It's as close to permission as he's likely to get while Eliot's mouth is otherwise occupied, which is good because he really doesn't think he could stop himself if he tried. "Fuck, fuck, Eliot!"

Somehow, coming like this doesn't feel as, as much as it used to, like his body's making him aware that coming just from his dick isn't the point of this whole heat thing, but it still feels fucking good.

Quentin just yanks Eliot upwards and kisses him, licking the taste of himself out of Eliot's mouth (which is a bit weird, admittedly, but also insanely hot). The orgasm might've taken the edge off his arousal, but only barely because the sight of Eliot is pretty much getting him there again already.

“Your activities?” Quentin groans. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to look at your mouth again without getting an erection.” As evidenced by the fact that his dick is already starting to twitch with interest again. Though that might just be the heat.

It's incredibly unfair that Eliot gets to be Like That, kissing the breath out of him and being cute about it, and Quentin is. Whatever the fuck he is. Slowly losing higher brain functions.

"Fuck, I really am," he says, letting his head drop back onto a pillow after he'd craned it up to chase Eliot's lips. "I don't think I've had a refractory period this short since I was a teenager." And maybe not even then. Depression and anti-depressants did some things to his libido.

He jerks a bit at the nip because that's just, that's way more sensitive than he thought it would be. The fact that it's still newly developed probably has something to do with it, but. God. Okay. His brain low-key has to reboot for a second. "That's - yeah," he says uselessly, having fully forgotten what he was planning to say originally.

Quentin just - whines, feeling briefly overwhelmed by the feeling of Eliot's mouth and the choices he's giving. It's too much, but not in a bad way. In a good way. Just, in the kind of good way that makes it hard to think.

His body, on the other hand, has no such problem making the decision that it wants something in it; he can feel slickness starting to gather in the nest under him. "I need, I need you in me," he gasps, and then - with a flash of memory of watching Eliot's long fingers demonstrate the spell from earlier while his brain drifted towards filthy places - "Your fingers to start, maybe?"

"Fuck, okay."

Look. He's not inexperienced? But he may have overestimated how much his experience applies here. There's some cognitive dissonance happening, feeling Eliot's finger slide inside him and knowing that the slickness is coming from inside of him. It doesn't help that his instincts are insisting he needs something thicker pretty much immediately, telling him this isn't enough even when he's barely had a second to adjust. "More, El."

Quentin is, he's aware that Eliot asked him a question. Eliot's voice sounds great right now, hitting a pitch that sends a shiver down Quentin's spine even as he fucks his fingers into Quentin. It's the words that are a problem, because as much as he's loving listening to Eliot right now, it's difficult to actually pay attention to what he's saying.

He just gasps out a high moan in answer, and honestly, however Eliot wants to interpret that, he's not going to be upset about it.

His eyes fly open (when did he even close them?) when Eliot slides his fingers out and moves away from him, and the whine he lets out is laced with confusion and genuine distress. Some part of him recognizes that Eliot is just grabbing supplies and hasn't even left the nest, but another, bigger part of him that's used to being anxious and is currently getting overwhelmed by new instincts doesn't understand what he did wrong, why Eliot stopped fucking him.

Thankfully, he doesn't have the time to actually work himself up into a serious upset before Eliot's got the condom on and is pressing back into him with his dick, and all is pretty much immediately forgiven.

He's full again, and that's really all he has the space to think about now. Eliot's filling him up just the way he needs it, hot and thick inside him. It's like his whole body melts into the feeling, a pleasant kind of static filling his head and chasing out any distress he'd felt a moment ago. He has his alpha now, inside him and all around him, making him feel good and safe, so it's okay.