I did. You make it hard to say no. [Koby flips the words back onto Quentin, and he sees that little smirk, right when it registers just how casually affectionate they're being. That -- isn't normal, not for him. He's always been so awkwardly conscious of himself, always fidgeting or slouching or trying to take up less space. But somehow in the space of a couple hours, Quentin's made him loose-limbed and relaxed and not the least bit self-conscious. How much of that is coming so hard he believes in god (all of them) and how much of that is just enjoying Quentin's company?
It's all a little too much to sort out when naked and occupied with untangling the glorious mess of curls, so Koby puts it aside until later. Instead he grabs for the shampoo, something a bit more floral than the soap -- light, not too overpowering, just the faintest scent of lilac and linen. It's subtle enough that Koby doesn't feel like he's suffocating when he uses it, and it's poured liberally into Quentin's now-damp hair, before Koby sets about lathering it up. He'd been skilled with the general bathing, but his fingers positively fly through this, like he's been handling long, tangled curls for years.]
There is. There's a shower right over there. [Koby says it matter-of-factly enough that it'd be easy to assume he's just that oblivious. But it's accompanied with him tugging gently at his grip in Quentin's hair, pulling him back to rest fully on Koby's thighs, so the younger man can smile at him upside-down.] I don't think that's what you meant though, is it? [A shake of his head, clever fingers buried to the knuckle in sudsy curls, then dragging down from root to tip.] You're insatiable, you know. Close your eyes.
[One hand scoops up more water, rinsing out the soap, another moves to shield Quentin's face so he doesn't get shampoo running down into his eyes. It's another of those automatic, careful gestures, all of them layering one upon another to say the same thing, again and again -- this isn't just for sex, isn't just for fun. Koby meant what he said, when he asked to help, when he said let me take care of you, and he means to make the most of the time he's allowed.]
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It's all a little too much to sort out when naked and occupied with untangling the glorious mess of curls, so Koby puts it aside until later. Instead he grabs for the shampoo, something a bit more floral than the soap -- light, not too overpowering, just the faintest scent of lilac and linen. It's subtle enough that Koby doesn't feel like he's suffocating when he uses it, and it's poured liberally into Quentin's now-damp hair, before Koby sets about lathering it up. He'd been skilled with the general bathing, but his fingers positively fly through this, like he's been handling long, tangled curls for years.]
There is. There's a shower right over there. [Koby says it matter-of-factly enough that it'd be easy to assume he's just that oblivious. But it's accompanied with him tugging gently at his grip in Quentin's hair, pulling him back to rest fully on Koby's thighs, so the younger man can smile at him upside-down.] I don't think that's what you meant though, is it? [A shake of his head, clever fingers buried to the knuckle in sudsy curls, then dragging down from root to tip.] You're insatiable, you know. Close your eyes.
[One hand scoops up more water, rinsing out the soap, another moves to shield Quentin's face so he doesn't get shampoo running down into his eyes. It's another of those automatic, careful gestures, all of them layering one upon another to say the same thing, again and again -- this isn't just for sex, isn't just for fun. Koby meant what he said, when he asked to help, when he said let me take care of you, and he means to make the most of the time he's allowed.]