Mmmmn? [It's wordless, a soft shuddering sigh of a sound as that peak starts to abate, as all the brilliant, blazing heat and light that had coursed up and down Koby's limbs, filled the space between his ribs, tumbled out in sharp, gasping cries of Quentin's name -- all that starts to slip away, leaving a delicious, loose-limbed warmth in it's wake, numbing the edge of any sensation that isn't pure satisfaction. It's Koby's turn to smile, a curl of a grin, wobbly and fond, feeling the bloom of that mark on his collar bone, feeling hazy and fucked out and content like a cat in a sunbeam. He's very used to rolling over and going to sleep after getting off, but he's also very used to "getting off" being his own hand or a pillow and a few moments of urgent grinding to achieve a pale imitation of what Quentin's just given him.
So he doesn't tease -- not knowingly, though he does rock his hips lazily in Quentin's lap, rides the urgent thrusts with blissful calm, still shivering through aftershocks and not so oversensitive that it's too much. He finds the damp curls tumbling into Quentin's face, smooths them back with shaky hands, smiles at the need, the hunger in how the man moans his name. That -- Koby could listen to that for the rest of his life, and he feels too damn good to realize how dangerous that feeling is.]
Yeah. [Soft, breathy, a shift of his hips, a shuddering clench around Quentin's cock, coaxing, permitting, inviting.] Inside, you -- [He leans in, catches Quentin's mouth again, cradles his face like he had when doctoring his wounds, when cleaning away blood and watching the weariness and mirth war in those dark eyes. Koby kisses him, twice, three times, breathes against his mouth:] Go on, you can, I've got you. [He's not sure where that last comes from, that promise, that reassurance that's too sweet for a heated, hasty encounter. Maybe it's that Koby doesn't know how to be anything other than a bleeding heart, than an open hand and an earnest voice, than clumsy kisses and the press of his still-shivering body against Qunetin's. Maybe he's sweet all the way through, despite the best efforts of more than one world.]
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So he doesn't tease -- not knowingly, though he does rock his hips lazily in Quentin's lap, rides the urgent thrusts with blissful calm, still shivering through aftershocks and not so oversensitive that it's too much. He finds the damp curls tumbling into Quentin's face, smooths them back with shaky hands, smiles at the need, the hunger in how the man moans his name. That -- Koby could listen to that for the rest of his life, and he feels too damn good to realize how dangerous that feeling is.]
Yeah. [Soft, breathy, a shift of his hips, a shuddering clench around Quentin's cock, coaxing, permitting, inviting.] Inside, you -- [He leans in, catches Quentin's mouth again, cradles his face like he had when doctoring his wounds, when cleaning away blood and watching the weariness and mirth war in those dark eyes. Koby kisses him, twice, three times, breathes against his mouth:] Go on, you can, I've got you. [He's not sure where that last comes from, that promise, that reassurance that's too sweet for a heated, hasty encounter. Maybe it's that Koby doesn't know how to be anything other than a bleeding heart, than an open hand and an earnest voice, than clumsy kisses and the press of his still-shivering body against Qunetin's. Maybe he's sweet all the way through, despite the best efforts of more than one world.]