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.

"Yeah," he gasps, admittedly not fully sure what he's agreeing to. He just knows that everything is good - Eliot's dick feels good and he's telling Quentin that he's good and it's fucking, it's everything. The only thing he doesn't like is that he can't kiss Eliot and listen to his praise at the same time, so he has to make the decision to choose kissing him again.

Okay. Okay, Jesus. He’s only just aware enough to put together the facts and realize that it doesn’t just feel like Eliot’s getting bigger inside him, he actually is. That’s how this works. And luckily he’s pretty deep in his instincts right now telling him this is right, this is good, this is what his body’s for, or he might start worrying about whether or not it’s going to get too big for him.

“Ohhh fuck, Eliot,” he whimpers. The smaller thrusts coupled with increased size are pretty much rubbing directly against his prostate and he’s pretty sure he’s losing his mind.

"Eliot, El, I wanna, please - "

It's not like he has to ask permission to come, that's definitely not a thing that was discussed or implied in any way, but there's a desperation building inside him, coming from the same place that preens with pleasure whenever Eliot calls him good. And the feelings get all mixed up because he needs to come, god, but he also needs for Eliot to keep calling him good and his. "I need to come, please - "

He's pretty sure he didn't need Eliot's hand stroking him off in order to come, but Jesus does it feel amazing. It's overwhelming, and he finds himself biting at Eliot's shoulder as he comes (not anywhere near the mating gland, he has just enough self-awareness to avoid that potential disaster), grounding himself and putting a mark on Eliot at the same time. This is his alpha (for now, anyway, he doesn't even have the brainpower to think about later) and he wants it to show.

Being knotted isn't exactly what he'd expected, back in sex ed for magicians. There'd been something terrifying and almost claustrophobic about the idea then; he'd worried that it would hurt, that it would be too much for his body even though everything he read assured him that magic would rewrite his body almost entirely for the purpose of this moment.

The reality is - it hurts, sort of, but it's really more of a pressure and stretch that his instincts guide him through relaxing into. The truth is, he's practically drunk on hormones and pheromones making him all pliant, and when it's done, when they're locked together, he doesn't feel claustrophobic, he feels safe. He feels content, his body rewarding him for a job well done by easing off on the chemicals making him feel desperate so he can relax with his nest all around him and his alpha inside him. There's even a rumble in his vocal chords that might be him purring again.