Quentin fell into the bed, exhausted. From the minute he had finished draining the cup of the potion – which had tasted of a bizarre combination of cotton candy and fresh-cut grass – Tick had launched into action. The remainder of his day had involved being swept from place to place to have articles of clothing of various styles and fits tested on him, all the while Tick continuing to list off various random and occasionally what seemed to be contradictory rules of etiquette for Sunerian alphas, omegas, and betas. Quentin had tried to pay attention, but whenever he wasn't focusing on whatever pose the irritated tailor attending him wanted him to strike, his mind was anxiously wandering back to thoughts of his dynamic. Every little twinge or creak he felt in his body sent his brain spinning, wondering if it was the first of the changes that would signal the emergence of his secondary gender.

He wasn't even sure what he was looking for. He didn't remember a lot of what his high school health class had tried to teach him about the sex and gender. Most of the class he had spent attempting to sneakily read bits of 'Fillory and Further' under his desk in order to distract himself from the graying teacher at the front the room speaking in a disaffected voice about who had a penis and where they should and shouldn't put it. Needless to say, he really didn't learn much of anything in that class.

When his friends all started to present throughout late high school and college, Quentin had finally started paying attention. But by that point, he had realized he had fallen pretty far behind everyone else on the gender development track and was too embarrassed to broach the topic with any of his friends. Not that he had many close friends aside from James and Julia, and there was no way he was going to discuss how it felt to have your genitals change with them. Now he was stuck in internet-less Fillory facing down the effects of a magical gender potion with no Google to help him frantically cram twenty-some odd years of missing gender knowledge into the space of a few hours.

He really didn't have time for it anyways. Whenever Tick caught him staring distractedly off into distance, he would begin to quiz him on etiquette, as if he was worried it would all slip out of his brain when he wasn't paying attention. To his credit, a lot of it did, but mostly because he just didn't have the energy or motivation to remember the sixteen different sets of table manners for alphas that shifted with the alignment of the sun. Besides, he didn't really think he was going to present as an alpha anyways. He never said as much, but Tick must have thought so as well, as he spent considerably less time talking about alpha etiquette then the other dynamics.

In some ways, Quentin was glad. Even though alphas easily commanded a certain amount of respect Quentin had always been a bit jealous of, he had never been envious of the expectations people placed on them. It seemed Sunerian culture was no different in this regard, as it put alphas at the head of most of their rituals. Alphas were the ones who lead toasts, moderated discussions, and apparently, in Suneria, got the final word on the amount of squash grown in a season.

Not that the other genders seemed to fair much better. He had been expecting some outdated ideas about omegas to be floating around in Fillory, but the number of archaic concepts and rules Tick had spouted off was shocking. Apparently, omegas in Suneria still weren't supposed to speak unless spoken too. His thoughts wandered to Penny, an omega who was openly vocal about any and every complaint he had about Quentin. It was definitely for the best that Penny wouldn't be here when the Sunerians arrived.

Quentin groaned, twisting around in his sheets, unable to get comfortable. As tired as he was from the long day, it seemed his body was unwilling to let him rest. He could still feel that lingering emptiness inside him that had originally driven him to moping in the throne room. He had hoped that if nothing else emerging as his dynamic would help settle that particular bit of anxiousness inside him, but so far there was no luck. Worse, what if he had already presented as something more subtle, like a beta, throughout the course of the day and nothing had changed? He wasn't sure it how he felt about the idea of finally receiving his dynamic like he had wanted for so long, only to find it as underwhelming as everything else in his life.

The idea of getting up and trying to find his friends crossed his mind for a moment, despite the late hour and his lack of knowledge about where their rooms were. He hadn't seen any of them all day, as he had been too busy being herded around by Tick. Even if he didn't discuss the intricacies of his gender problem with them, just being able to talk to any one of them to get his mind off the stress would be nice. Except, maybe not Alice. After defeating the Beast, they had realized they were just too different of people to make a good couple, and even though they had resolved to remain friends, they were still on slightly rocky terms. Margo had made an effort to a little more decent to him after the crowning ceremony, but they had still never been that close. Eliot, however…

The thought of Eliot made his stomach twist, and not in a bad way. The moment Eliot's name had crossed his mind something a bit like an electric shock had passed through his lower abdomen. He had always known the other man was objectively attractive, and the night they had gotten drunk while recovering from the emotion bottles, he had caught the Eliot looking at him more than once. Nothing had happened that night, mostly because Quentin was so firm in his belief that an alpha like Eliot would never want a genderless nothing like himself.

But the sudden thump of desire coursing through him at just the thought of Eliot made him consider it further. What it would be like to have Eliot slide up behind him at a party in the physical kids cottage and wrap his hands around his hips. The feeling of those long fingers pressed into his sides, and his warm breath against the back of his neck as he whispered a husky suggestion to find somewhere a little more private upstairs.

A shiver passed over Quentin, almost as if he could feel it happening in real time. He was starting to fatten up a bit under the covers, his dick rubbing pleasantly against the sheets. His mind wandered back to his fantasy with Eliot, now moved to the senior student's room upstairs. He imagined that as soon as they entered the room, Eliot would be so impatient he'd already have him pressed up against the door the moment it closed, kissing him. Quentin wondered if his lips were so soft as they looked, and what it would feel like to tangle his hands in Eliot's dark curls as they kissed. If his kisses would be hasty and hot, or slow and dirty, full of tongue. Unable to resist the growing fire of lust in him, he reached under the covers to take his cock in hand. The first touch felt better then it had any right too, and he just barely remembered to suppress his groan in the crowded castle. As he began to stroke, he thought about how much better it would feel if it was Eliot's hand on him instead of his own. How Eliot would lay him out on the bed before undressing him his and then taking him in hand, somehow knowing just how to touch. The way he'd looked in his eyes and smirk as if he knew what Quentin wanted before he even knew he wanted it. He could picture Eliot kissing him passionately down his chest, leaving little wet marks, before reaching his groin. The thought of Eliot confidently swallowing him down, eyes locked with his the entire time, had him quickening his strokes.

Quentin was flushed and panting now, his entire body felt hot and heavy with the fantasy. He knew he should feel more embarrassed about imagining one of his best friends in such a way, but he was too far gone now to feel anything but raging want. Still, it felt like something was missing, one more little motion that would tip him over the edge. In his mind, imaginary Eliot seemed to realize this too, and pulled off one of the hands that had been holding open his shaking thighs to lightly stroke his balls, before moving back to press against his hole. Quentin drew in a sharp breath at the thought and moved his own fingers to mimic the motion. One finger slid in easily, another following quickly, making wet sounds in the dark of his room. The thought of Eliot being the one thrusting his long, sinuous fingers inside, and then curling them up just so…

Just as Quentin was ready to burst, imaginary Eliot spoke for the first time.

"Are you going to come for me, little omega?"

Quentin did just that.

It took him a few moments to recover, but as he lay there processing what the fuck just happened, he took in his still-quaking thighs soaked with slick fluid and realized there could only be one explanation.

Well, shit.

He didn't have to wonder what his gender was anymore, it looked like he'd finally gotten his answer.

He was an omega.