[ quentin won't deny the heady victory he feels when koby goes speechless, sputtering and stammering with those wide, bright eyes and worried lips. it's impossible not to notice the way he licks at his lip, the way he frets over the droplets of water on his skin. but the fingers make fire bloom beneath them, make his own want that much stronger, his need desperate and great. ]

Your wish is my command.

[ he teases, though even his own voice has gone ragged with want, and carefully, he carries koby back into the bedroom. he's nimble, despite his injuries, ignoring the twinge in his chest to twist and turn over piles, nary touching a one as he approaches the unkempt bed. he kneels up on the edge, holding koby still, so that when he sets the man down it's in the center of the plush mattress. he's careful, gingerly placing him, but he doesn't stay away for long. in fact, he walks up on his knees, straddling koby's hips with his thighs and leaning down to bring their chests flush and heavy, kissing him with a desperate intensity, tasting him on his tongue and remembering the way swollen, bitten lips feel against his own. ]

Is this to your liking, Commander?

[ there's an easy wag of his brows, head tilting to bite at koby's neck, letting his tongue explore the bath-warmed skin, rediscovering marks he left there but moments earlier. ]

Let me thank you for the bath. Please. [ spoken against his clavicle, then the hollow of his throat. ] I would very much like to show my gratitude.