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ǫ | quentin toma ([personal profile] longitudinal) wrote2024-07-06 09:29 pm

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quentin toma

NOTES: sailor, navigator, loverboy, war-bringer.




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kobes: ([:)] fellas is it gay to)

[personal profile] kobes 2025-01-22 04:38 am (UTC)(link)
[There’s a soft gasp as Quentin bends him back, tips him like in a movie, like when the music swells and sweeps and the wind blows and the romantic leads kiss each other like there’s nothing else in the world. It had always seemed silly, in the movies, especially when there were other things going on – saving the world or a ship sinking or something.

It doesn’t feel silly now. It feels like coming home, it feels like steady ground beneath his feet, like an anchor, like a north star, like all the things Quentin’s called him over the months they’ve known each other. Koby lets himself imagine being called such things for longer, for days and weeks and months and years, lets himself believe that there’s a way to open a door between here and his world, lead the man he loves through and close it firmly behind him, so nothing monstrous or cruel or hopeless can follow.

And then he lets it slip away and curls into the sweet, wonderful warmth of now, of his heart in his chest and the grin on his face and the spark of Quentin’s magic teasing at his soul, his skin. Koby laughs softly, smooths back a loose, dark curl, lets his hand linger on Quentin’s cheek.
]

I love you too. [Kissing him again, sweeter, quicker.] No matter when or where.
kobes: ([:)] fellas is it gay to)

[personal profile] kobes 2025-01-24 03:59 am (UTC)(link)
[Quentin reminisces, and Koby smiles brighter, warmer with each recollection, nodding along -- of course he remembers, the bath and the bed and the desk, the lake, the sun, of course.]

I remember all of it. [Soft, pressed close against Quentin, hand tracing the line of his cheek, thumbing over the lines that appear when he smiles, the crinkle-eyed grin he adores so much.] I remember every day with you. Every moment. [He doesn't let any of it blur into mundanity, even the long lazy mornings spent quietly chatting beneath the covers, delaying getting up until Quentin suddenly springs up, stretching and yawning like a bear and announcing he needs breakfast -- or until Koby squirms a little closer and slips a hand up under Quentin's shirt, coaxing them into staying beneath the sheets a little longer. Koby sears it all into his mind, remembers the taste, the feel, the smell of each day, each hour, revels in it like a pirate king with his hoard.

And he laughs, wiggling closer, scrunching his nose at the cheeky grab, at the playful lightness in Quentin's face, his warm eyes, his bright grin.
] Well, I did bring dinner up, but...we can always reheat it if... [Koby glances over at the newly-made bed, arches both eyebrows.] If you want to properly christen our new home?