[Something shifts, something just subtle enough that Koby almost misses it, in that heated, hazy, post-orgasmic glow, in that searing moment of heat and fullness and satisfaction when Quentin comes inside him, when he says Koby's name again and again and shudders apart with pleasure. That would've been enough, would've still cemented the last however long -- half hour, less, more, time has ceased to matter, ceased to impact anything -- as something Koby's going to return to again and again, bring up in his constantly-humming mind over and over.
But then, after the shudder of catching breaths and the slow settling of racing hearts, just barely out of sync, Koby's pressed against Quentin's, thrumming in his chest, his neck, his shaky thighs and the shivery heat still snug around Quentin's cock, there's those hazy words of praise. And they're not needed, because this is the after, this is where they can part, where it can end, where there's no need to woo any longer. Koby had half-expected Quentin to disentangle himself, to kiss once, twice more, to return to his task in water cooled from scalding to lukewarm. He would've...been fine with that (he thinks, he lies).
Instead, though, Quentin murmurs praise against Koby's kiss-bruised mouth, holds him like he has no intention of letting go, and it sends a throb of something dangerous and lovely through the younger man's chest. It makes him smile, without a hint of shyness, just bright and warm and adoring, every emotion painted across his flushed face. You taste like the sea, Quentin says, and Koby actually laughs, catches the corner of his mouth for one more kiss, then shifting back just slightly, shivering a little at the shift of Quentin going soft inside him.]
Not too much? You aren't hurting worse, right? [Fussy, always fussy, trembly hands grabbing for soap, for a washcloth, then settling into Quentin's lap and taking a couple steadying breaths.] You can lean back, but don't fall asleep in the bath, that's dangerous. [Koby smooths Quentin's hair back, away from the mostly-clotted gash on his forehead, thumbing around it gently to make sure it isn't bleeding again.] I'll braid this back, after I wash it, so you don't get it in your face. Okay?
[As if it's already decided. As if it's obvious that the next step after (incredible, earth-shattering, mind-blowing) sex is hair-washing. There isn't even a moment of hesitation.]
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But then, after the shudder of catching breaths and the slow settling of racing hearts, just barely out of sync, Koby's pressed against Quentin's, thrumming in his chest, his neck, his shaky thighs and the shivery heat still snug around Quentin's cock, there's those hazy words of praise. And they're not needed, because this is the after, this is where they can part, where it can end, where there's no need to woo any longer. Koby had half-expected Quentin to disentangle himself, to kiss once, twice more, to return to his task in water cooled from scalding to lukewarm. He would've...been fine with that (he thinks, he lies).
Instead, though, Quentin murmurs praise against Koby's kiss-bruised mouth, holds him like he has no intention of letting go, and it sends a throb of something dangerous and lovely through the younger man's chest. It makes him smile, without a hint of shyness, just bright and warm and adoring, every emotion painted across his flushed face. You taste like the sea, Quentin says, and Koby actually laughs, catches the corner of his mouth for one more kiss, then shifting back just slightly, shivering a little at the shift of Quentin going soft inside him.]
Not too much? You aren't hurting worse, right? [Fussy, always fussy, trembly hands grabbing for soap, for a washcloth, then settling into Quentin's lap and taking a couple steadying breaths.] You can lean back, but don't fall asleep in the bath, that's dangerous. [Koby smooths Quentin's hair back, away from the mostly-clotted gash on his forehead, thumbing around it gently to make sure it isn't bleeding again.] I'll braid this back, after I wash it, so you don't get it in your face. Okay?
[As if it's already decided. As if it's obvious that the next step after (incredible, earth-shattering, mind-blowing) sex is hair-washing. There isn't even a moment of hesitation.]