[There's a little bit of a laugh at the constantly-evolving nickname, because it's -- fun, Quentin is fun, even weary and sore and bleeding, he smiles and he teases and it warms a part of Koby that he'd kept locked away for years. The thrilling, dizzying potential of sailing, of chasing a horizon had soured a long time ago, laced with misery and terror in a way that he's only just begun to untangle. Sometimes he feels like it'll never come loose, like he'll never think about the rock of waves without hearing blood splatter across the deck, never smell salt without thinking about curling up in the hungry, shivering dark and stifling sobs against his folded arms.
And sometimes it's effortless. Sometimes all the darkness disappears, and Koby laughs without a hint of self-consciousness, turns his palm towards the brush of Quentin's mouth, lets it send sparks up along his veins, thrumming with his heartbeat.] I'm not going to kick you out at dawn or anything, don't be silly. [It's tied on his tongue -- stay as long as you want, anything you want, just don't stop holding onto me, don't stop kissing me -- but Quentin's sense of direction sends him rising up to obey without Koby having to say a word. And there's still dust and blood in his mouth, fever-warm and full of teeth, and maybe that should be frightening. Maybe Koby should be more cautious.
But instead he snugs between Quentin's thighs, inhales the salty tang of his bloodied kiss, curls his tongue against it, clumsy -- inexperienced, his whole body radiates it, eager and unpracticed and raw -- but so, so willing to please. There's a little "mmmf" sound, the press of Koby's scarred chest to Quentin's dusty one, smearing the white fabric red-and-gold. His fingers slip up, into the tangled curls, cautiously, mindful of any tender spots, any injuries, careful here too.]
You should bathe. [Mumbled, against Quentin's mouth, between shuddery breaths, between the eager, hungry mess of tongue and lips and soft needy sounds.] But you kissed me, so -- doesn't count as impatient. [Sound logic, punctuated by Koby leaning to one side, not far enough to twist free from the hands at his waist, but enough that he can turn the knobs, send the steaming water flowing. Then he's back, a shorter kiss, leaning back and saying firmly:] But it will if you don't get started. So -- undress.
[A beat. Koby doesn't move from where he's snuggled up against Quentin's front, where he can feel the thrum of his heartbeat, the rise and fall of his chest. Then:] I'll -- get you. More water, um. They have pain medication here too, it works pretty well. [Still not moving.] If you want it.
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And sometimes it's effortless. Sometimes all the darkness disappears, and Koby laughs without a hint of self-consciousness, turns his palm towards the brush of Quentin's mouth, lets it send sparks up along his veins, thrumming with his heartbeat.] I'm not going to kick you out at dawn or anything, don't be silly. [It's tied on his tongue -- stay as long as you want, anything you want, just don't stop holding onto me, don't stop kissing me -- but Quentin's sense of direction sends him rising up to obey without Koby having to say a word. And there's still dust and blood in his mouth, fever-warm and full of teeth, and maybe that should be frightening. Maybe Koby should be more cautious.
But instead he snugs between Quentin's thighs, inhales the salty tang of his bloodied kiss, curls his tongue against it, clumsy -- inexperienced, his whole body radiates it, eager and unpracticed and raw -- but so, so willing to please. There's a little "mmmf" sound, the press of Koby's scarred chest to Quentin's dusty one, smearing the white fabric red-and-gold. His fingers slip up, into the tangled curls, cautiously, mindful of any tender spots, any injuries, careful here too.]
You should bathe. [Mumbled, against Quentin's mouth, between shuddery breaths, between the eager, hungry mess of tongue and lips and soft needy sounds.] But you kissed me, so -- doesn't count as impatient. [Sound logic, punctuated by Koby leaning to one side, not far enough to twist free from the hands at his waist, but enough that he can turn the knobs, send the steaming water flowing. Then he's back, a shorter kiss, leaning back and saying firmly:] But it will if you don't get started. So -- undress.
[A beat. Koby doesn't move from where he's snuggled up against Quentin's front, where he can feel the thrum of his heartbeat, the rise and fall of his chest. Then:] I'll -- get you. More water, um. They have pain medication here too, it works pretty well. [Still not moving.] If you want it.