[ quentin has been around long enough to know what that little swallow means, the little gasp. while he's not always on the receiving end of it, this time makes him hesitate, glancing to be sure the sound came out of the slight man in front of him. why he cares? he can't put a finger on, but he's almost certain he can see the sea in koby's eyes. he snorts as he follows dutifully, and only when given the titles does he roll his eyes, crack the water bottle open again and make a display of downing the rest of it in a succession of swallows, head tipped back, throat exposed.
he pops his mouth from it with a satisfied little ah and raises a brow. ]
Happy, Commander Navigator? I am no longer your Dehydrated Warrior, I'm sorry to disappoint.
[ he keeps in step with him, ignoring the way people look at him, bloody and sandy and bruised, hair matted and sweat stippling his temples. it's not hard to sneak a look while they're wading through crowds - the curl of hair at koby's nape (and the skin exposed when he runs fingers through it), the flush of sunburn, walking chest forward and chin up despite the rambling nerves he hears tumbling from his lips.
in a different world he might dash into a side stall, tug someone like koby up against him and laugh into his mouth to ruin a night together. this isn't home, and this isn't that kind of meeting. nothing about this place will be fleeting for him - a different cage with prettier walls and finer ammenities. strangely? he doesn't want it to be like home, either.
he pauses at the base of the stairs, screws his face up in mock thought and shrugs one shoulder. ] Not that I'm aware of. I can tell you that my room is up these stairs, down two hallways and the third door on the left. It was two floors up this morning - this place is strange.
[ he races up a couple more stairs ahead of koby, looking over his shoulder at him. he shouldn't be moving so fast - he's definitely bruised a rib, but he's used to it. ]
But the question is, Goodly Handsome Commander Navigator - will we be going to my room to wash up, or yours?
no subject
he pops his mouth from it with a satisfied little ah and raises a brow. ]
Happy, Commander Navigator? I am no longer your Dehydrated Warrior, I'm sorry to disappoint.
[ he keeps in step with him, ignoring the way people look at him, bloody and sandy and bruised, hair matted and sweat stippling his temples. it's not hard to sneak a look while they're wading through crowds - the curl of hair at koby's nape (and the skin exposed when he runs fingers through it), the flush of sunburn, walking chest forward and chin up despite the rambling nerves he hears tumbling from his lips.
in a different world he might dash into a side stall, tug someone like koby up against him and laugh into his mouth to ruin a night together. this isn't home, and this isn't that kind of meeting. nothing about this place will be fleeting for him - a different cage with prettier walls and finer ammenities. strangely? he doesn't want it to be like home, either.
he pauses at the base of the stairs, screws his face up in mock thought and shrugs one shoulder. ] Not that I'm aware of. I can tell you that my room is up these stairs, down two hallways and the third door on the left. It was two floors up this morning - this place is strange.
[ he races up a couple more stairs ahead of koby, looking over his shoulder at him. he shouldn't be moving so fast - he's definitely bruised a rib, but he's used to it. ]
But the question is, Goodly Handsome Commander Navigator - will we be going to my room to wash up, or yours?