[It sounds like a promise, like a vow, like something Koby wants to tie himself to like an anchor, build something upon. He’s thought about after, about what will happen when this place lets them go, however that may happen, when it’s walls crumble and the gates fly open – or, maybe, less dramatically, they slip back or forward into something else, some other world entirely. He’s thought about returning home to the Marines, to training and working towards chasing down pirates, to finding a way to help people, and already there’s an ache at the idea of Quentin not being there. Of not having him there every day, a message or a photo or a sweet, fond kiss while passing in the hallway or the warmth of his body in bed at night, tucking up behind Koby while he’s half-asleep.
If he were offered the chance to return, to go back to chasing his dream, but it would mean leaving Quentin…Koby’s known for a while what his answer would be. He feels it now, hands tangled in dark hair, the warm, familiar callus of those sailor’s hands on his face, kissing away his tears – no. If it’s a world without him, I don’t want it.
But for now, there’s the sound of the ocean and the warmth of the sunlight and the curve of Quentin’s mouth against his own, sweet and adoring, the soft rumble of his voice making Koby entirely forget that there’s anyone else in the world. It makes him laugh through the tears, leaning back with one more kiss, two, hands lingering on Quentin’s face, like he can’t bear to let go, not for an instant.] Right here? In the boat? On the lake? Where anyone could see?
[Naturally, of course, he’s already unbuckling his overalls, leaning back in Quentin’s lap so he can tug his shirt off. Not wasting any time, not when Quentin asks so sweetly, stokes that ever-present flicker of want that belongs exclusively to him, a corner of Koby’s heart that is always hungry for more, greedy in a way that nearly terrifies him. Part of him is always, maddeningly, insatiable for this man.] Don’t tip over the boat, though. We have to be careful. [As much to himself as Quentin.]
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If he were offered the chance to return, to go back to chasing his dream, but it would mean leaving Quentin…Koby’s known for a while what his answer would be. He feels it now, hands tangled in dark hair, the warm, familiar callus of those sailor’s hands on his face, kissing away his tears – no. If it’s a world without him, I don’t want it.
But for now, there’s the sound of the ocean and the warmth of the sunlight and the curve of Quentin’s mouth against his own, sweet and adoring, the soft rumble of his voice making Koby entirely forget that there’s anyone else in the world. It makes him laugh through the tears, leaning back with one more kiss, two, hands lingering on Quentin’s face, like he can’t bear to let go, not for an instant.] Right here? In the boat? On the lake? Where anyone could see?
[Naturally, of course, he’s already unbuckling his overalls, leaning back in Quentin’s lap so he can tug his shirt off. Not wasting any time, not when Quentin asks so sweetly, stokes that ever-present flicker of want that belongs exclusively to him, a corner of Koby’s heart that is always hungry for more, greedy in a way that nearly terrifies him. Part of him is always, maddeningly, insatiable for this man.] Don’t tip over the boat, though. We have to be careful. [As much to himself as Quentin.]