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[ as koby begins to tell his story, quentin squeezes his hands and simply hums in response, acknowledging each point made and encouraging him to continue. they may still be getting to know one another, but quentin can read between the lines of koby's story, and the things he hadn't known - the blood, the fear, the terror - that's all something he will hold onto, use later when koby needs bolstering, protecting.

but he listens to the end of the story, the way koby's able to catch his breath as he tells it, the way he steadies in his arms. he smiles a little, encouraging, even if the intensity still burns behind his eyes. ]

She didn't know the first thing about you.

[ he leans his forehead against koby's, letting their noses nudge and their breaths mingle on the air between them in the dark. one hand pulls away from the other's, moving to wrap around his waist again, palm splaying against his back. the other stays, fingers twining. ]

And did any of what you said - did that sound like a coward's tale, Koby? Someone who would be better off nothing but a smear on the deck? Hardly. Let her think what she wants, but she's wrong and even if she was here, she'd have no power over you now.

[ he smiles. ] A dream is just that - a dream. A bad one, a good one. And maybe she haunts you there, but she has no power. Only you do.

…no. It doesn’t. [It feels like it should, like the fact that it’s Koby, sniveling, whining, cowering runt Koby, should make up for everything else, should blot out any spark of courage, any brave actions. But it doesn’t. If the story had been about someone else, Koby would admire them. So he exhales, reaching up with the heel of one hand to wipe at his tears.] She. She knew about me. That I'm...that I used to be...she was the only one, in that world, who knew. [There's a shaky exhale, almost a laugh.] She always said it meant she knew me better than anyone. But if I saw her now she probably...probably wouldn’t even recognize me.

[Those big teary eyes close in something like relief at the slip of Quentin’s hand down his back, warm and firm and grounding, tethering Koby to the earth, not to the thoughts that are always, always spiraling in his head. He snuggles closer, breathes in the now-familiar scent, sweat and sleep and fresh sheets, something sweet from dinner that Quentin had let himself indulge in, so close Koby can nearly taste it. Part of him wants to, wants to sink into the thrilling, delicious, all-consuming fire of those hands on his skin, that mouth on his, the tangle of their bodies like drops of water coming together.

But he’s so tired. He’s so tired, and it’s enough to just lie here, like he had that first morning after Quentin had arrived, that strawberry-flavored late morning, in this very same bed. Thinking of that, Koby smiles, weary and faint, eyes half-open and sore from crying.] I don’t think about her here. I don’t have any dreams when I sleep with you.

…did you mean it? That I could come here whenever I wanted? [It’s late, it’s so late and Koby’s whole body feels wrung out like a damp rag, so he can’t fully suppress the note of longing, of hopefulness in the words.]

From the looks of things, you never were what she thought you were. She just made sure you were afraid of yourself more than you were of her. She's a right cunt.

[ he shrugs a little bit, knowing very well what the implication here is, but he's met many people in his travels that seem to have been born in the wrong body. that seem to be and exude something else entirely than what they're made to fit in. and isn't that just what they are? bodies with souls inside of them, trying their best to live?

he sighs, petting koby's back, tracing soft little patterns over it to help soothe everything that's happened tonight. still, he finds a furious heat burning in his chest, a rage that can only be matched by what he feels for the regent. and yet, when he looks down at koby, his expression softens a little. ]

I don't waste time saying what I don't mean. I just like to say what I mean in a variety of ways. Come to my room whenever you see fit. My bed is your bed. You're staying here tonight, whether you like it or not. I insist.

[ he dips his head in, kissing him gently, sweetly, nudging their noses together. ]

Do you understand, Commander?

[There's more Koby could say, more about the horrors of those two years, of the things he was told, the things he endured -- but the insult is so bluntly savage, so unexpected that he chokes out a surprised laugh, chin tipping upwards, amused and teary in equal measure.] She -- she really was. Just terrible. And her ship was ridiculous, it was shaped like a duck.

[Then Koby stills, watching the silhouette of Quentin in the dim light from the moon outside, from the hall outside the warm safety of the room, watches the shape of his mouth, the tumble of his tangled hair. The kiss comes, sweet, soft, feeling like forgiveness, like absolution for every shameful tear, every choked-out memory. Koby's hand reaches up, finds Quentin's cheek in the dark, strokes along the sleek line of his jaw, his beard.]

I understand. Yes. [Another kiss, quicker, but no less fervent.] Thank you, Quentin. For -- for being awake. [For everything, he means, sniffling and drawing away long enough to prop himself up on his elbow and tug his shirt off, letting it drop on the floor for now, then snuggling back closer.]

Shaped like a duck? Wow, she really is a cunt then, to walk around acting like that with a duck shaped ship. Ridiculous.

[ he laughs a little, shaking his head and nosing into koby's hair when he returns from removing his shirt. quentin reaches to pull the covers up over them both, making sure koby is nothing if not secure in the bed beside him. he reaches again to brush any stray tears and dampness from the man's face, leaning into the little kisses offered. ]

It is no small feat that I was awake for you - you do know how sailor's enjoy their rest. [ a grin and he settles back into the bed himself, rolling to his back and tugging koby up along side him, keeping him close. ]

So you should stop thanking me while you're ahead and just let yourself in next time. No questions asked. It will be easier for both of us. [ a tease. ]

[There's another of those laughs, watery, soft, against the warmth of Quentin's mouth in the dark, as Koby tucks himself down into the cocoon of blankets and smooth, warm, bare skin, as he finds that place where he's worried marks into the other man's skin, where neck and shoulder meet.] Her mace was shaped like one too. She was very big on theme. I think she liked that I had the same hair color, maybe? I don't know, it doesn't matter.

[Koby sighs, one hand stealing out, sliding over Quentin's chest, past the piercing to where his heart beats, steady and soothing. One fingertip traces absent designs -- loops, swirls, something that might be a K.] Mmm, that's fortunate timing, isn't it. Stroke of luck.

...I'll knock. Just in case you're indecent. [Also teasing, but in a way that suggests he's going to take Quentin up on the offer, punctuated with Koby's roughened palm settling flat over that pulse, settling there.]

I doubt it looked half as good on her. Again, a royal cunt. Though that might be offensive to associate her with all other royal cunts in the world. She's a breed of her own.

[ he yawns a little as they finally settle in, one of his arms looped around koby, keeping him tucked in tight and close, the other settled on his arm above his elbow, so as not to impede the soft little movements over his chest. he's tired, but he doesn't plan to sleep until koby drifts off - wanting to be sure that the dreams don't chase him into his sleep again. ]

No need. I prefer you to find me indecent - and where's the fun if you don't take a little gamble here and there. [ he tips his head, pressing a kiss to his forehead. ]

You should rest.

[Again, a soft huff of a laugh, this one vague, sleepy. The shattering weight of the nightmares that had seemed so insurmountable, so overwhelming now feels very, very far away. Already drowsy, Koby mumbles into that notch where shoulder and neck meet:] She can't get me here.

[Then, drawing another vague looping shape, a circle or a heart or the like, over Quentin’s breastbone, then tapping it gently:] You rest. Decent or no. Dream something nice.

No, she can't. Not here, and certainly not with me here.

[ it's gentle, a sleepy murmur into the soft pink head of hair against his side. it's easy to grow comfortable here, to settle into koby and imagine his visiting nightly on better terms. for them to come together and drift lazily on their own paths on a calm sea. ]

I hope you have a sweet dream to chase all the others away.

[ he's not sure if he falls asleep or if koby does, or if they both do, but quentin goes still, his breathing evens out, and sleep pulls him back down into the comfortable dark. ]

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