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WELCOME TO THE SALTBURNT NETWORK

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quentin toma NOTES: sailor, navigator, loverboy, war-bringer. THREAT LEVEL LIKABILITY LEVEL SCANDAL LEVEL FASHION LEVEL WEALTH LEVEL

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[ as koby speaks he laughs softly, brushing the other man's neck with kisses, trying to sooth him as he hiccups and cries into his neck, his shoulder. quentin would stay in this boat, adrift on the lake forever if it meant he could have koby for the rest of his life, not only his life here in the house. so he continues to kiss every inch of skin he's able to, smooths his hands down the man's sides, his hips, his chest, tracing the scars and anything he can. ]

You're all of that for me, there's no somehow. No trying. No Ifs. I wake up beside you and find all I can think of is your light. I feel frightened or sad or scared and you're the firelight from shore. I want nothing more than to sail home to you and press against your hearth, breathe in your warmth and kindness and maybe learn a little of my own.

[ he draws his head back, kissing koby again and again, sweet little things, a hand reaching again to wipe away those tears over and over. when quentin looks down with his own wet, happy eyes he smiles, genuine and unguarded and so immensely happy. ]

I love you. Loud and clear.

[ he leans in again, bumps their noses together, allows another kiss to pass through them, slow and yearning and hot, savoring and enjoying the fire burning between them. ]

[kobes]

[He wants to say more, wants to say that Quentin's the first person who's ever laughed when he cried and meant it in kindness, that the world has to be basically good, basically loving because he's in it, that the way his hair smells drives Koby insane, except -- well, that hair is tumbling down in loose, silky, heavy curls, and he's only human, after all. Instead he takes you're all of that and my true north and I love you and burrows the words deep into his marrow, for the bad days, for the nightmares.

And for now, he leans up, mumbles love you, I love you between a thousand kisses, matching Quentin's slow sweetness with open arms, with hunger, with kindling for that fire. Emotion is physical, for Koby, always has been -- he's sad, he cries, he's angry, he cries, he's happy, he cries. Everything is out on his sleeve, there for anyone to see, bleeding bright and vivid and inescapable where anyone can see. He thinks vaguely about haki, oddly, about the idea that emotion is a color, a taste, a sound, about reaching out and feeling someone else's like trailing fingertips over skin.

He stops thinking when his needy, insistent arch up towards that kiss makes the boat rock, getting a startled gasp, teary and laughing and shaken momentarily out of the heady haze.] I -- forgot where we were for a minute, I'm. Whoops. [Another laugh, red-faced and bright-eyed and reaching up to stroke his fingers down the curve of Quentin's face.] Sorry, keep going. You wanted to show me -- show me. [There's a quirk of a grin, that bright wickedness Koby has sometimes (mostly around Quentin, mostly when faced with his irrepressible, brilliant, addictive self), and he repeats, softer, knees nudging closer on either side of Quentin, wanting him closer, wanting to drown in him:] Show me.