No, no, never. [Koby says it laughing, bare-armed and bare-chested in the midday sun, something he’d never, never anticipated he’d do – not in front of anyone, not without immediately trying to hide, trying to curl in on himself and disappear. But here he is, not thinking about anything but Quentin’s lips pressed to his thrumming heartbeat, to the pinked warmth of his neck, to the freckles on his shoulder, not caring about anything but catching that mouth with his, kissing this man again and again and again, until he forgets what world they’re in, until he forgets they aren’t on any sea at all.] You’d never let anything bad happen to me. [Matter-of-fact, prompt, earnest, like he’s stating a fact of the universe, inarguable.
The boat is smooth whitewashed board, patched expertly, and Koby shivers a bit against the feel of it on his bare back, along his spine, his shoulderblades working as he reaches up to tug Quentin down, smiling again at the rock of the rowboat. Like this it’s a bit more private, just the sunny sky overhead, the trees far enough away from the shore that they can almost pretend they’re out to sea. Quentin’s mouth finds his, pouting just a bit, just enough to prompt a soft laugh as Koby’s fingers stroke through loose, dark curls, combing them away so he can kiss Quentin’s cheeks, his chin, his lips.] Okay. Show me. [Soft, settling into the hollow of the little boat, settling Quentin into the curve of his body, chest to chest, the way they wake up together so many mornings.
There’s hunger – always, with Quentin, always this barely-controlled desire to touch and hold and feel him, until there’s nothing and nobody else in the world – but there’s also a strange stillness, like a calm sea. Koby could stay right here, he realizes, could spend the rest of the time in this boat, with this person cradled in his arms, with the sun overhead. He could give up everything else, every other world, and that – should be terrifying. It should make him rethink everything.
It doesn’t. Because Quentin is kissing him again, voice soft and sweet and low, and Koby doesn’t want to do anything but kiss him back, playing with his hair, twining a long, silky curl around his finger.] Warn you about what? [Innocent, wide-eyed, guileless, in that soft early-morning voice he gets before anyone else is awake, when Quentin snuggles up on top of him just like this and they talk about nothing in the space between kisses.] I didn’t know to expect you either. I had no idea.
[A pause, Koby leaning back a bit, nose sun-pinked, eyes soft, tracing over every line, every feature of Quentin’s face.] I wouldn’t have changed anything, though. Not one part of it. Not one part of you. Of you and I. You know that, right?
no subject
The boat is smooth whitewashed board, patched expertly, and Koby shivers a bit against the feel of it on his bare back, along his spine, his shoulderblades working as he reaches up to tug Quentin down, smiling again at the rock of the rowboat. Like this it’s a bit more private, just the sunny sky overhead, the trees far enough away from the shore that they can almost pretend they’re out to sea. Quentin’s mouth finds his, pouting just a bit, just enough to prompt a soft laugh as Koby’s fingers stroke through loose, dark curls, combing them away so he can kiss Quentin’s cheeks, his chin, his lips.] Okay. Show me. [Soft, settling into the hollow of the little boat, settling Quentin into the curve of his body, chest to chest, the way they wake up together so many mornings.
There’s hunger – always, with Quentin, always this barely-controlled desire to touch and hold and feel him, until there’s nothing and nobody else in the world – but there’s also a strange stillness, like a calm sea. Koby could stay right here, he realizes, could spend the rest of the time in this boat, with this person cradled in his arms, with the sun overhead. He could give up everything else, every other world, and that – should be terrifying. It should make him rethink everything.
It doesn’t. Because Quentin is kissing him again, voice soft and sweet and low, and Koby doesn’t want to do anything but kiss him back, playing with his hair, twining a long, silky curl around his finger.] Warn you about what? [Innocent, wide-eyed, guileless, in that soft early-morning voice he gets before anyone else is awake, when Quentin snuggles up on top of him just like this and they talk about nothing in the space between kisses.] I didn’t know to expect you either. I had no idea.
[A pause, Koby leaning back a bit, nose sun-pinked, eyes soft, tracing over every line, every feature of Quentin’s face.] I wouldn’t have changed anything, though. Not one part of it. Not one part of you. Of you and I. You know that, right?