Mmm. Less syllables. [koby mumbles it, hooking his thumbs into his underwear – boyshorts, clingy and dark, hugging the curve of his ass – and tugging them down in one smooth motion. he’s not self conscious in the least, yawning and scratching his fluffed-up hair with a grimace, the same downy pink as the neatly-trimmed fluff between his legs.
not waiting for quentin (q) to respond, koby kicks his shed clothes towards the door, then pads over to the shower, looking at the soapy, offered hand with a scrunched nose.] You usually shower in clothes? I’m moving slow, be nice to me, I’m dying of a hangover. [he sets one hand into the offered one, using the grip to balance his wobbly legs as he neatly steps into the tub, careful not to slip.] Probably gonna die right here, right as you’re making me wash your back.
[koby huffs and puffs, but, after ducking under the spray and letting it stream hot and scouring and restoring over his exhausted body, he flicks his hair out of his face, then prods at quentin’s shoulder with his fingertips.] Go on, turn around.
[ quentin glances back over at koby, admiring the tone and the shape of his body - not his usual type, really, but he's alluring enough to keep quentin's attention as his underwear comes off. even more surprising when he sees the thatch of pink hair, the deep vee between his thighs.
quentin enjoys surprises. ]
I wasn't actually expecting you to wash my back, but since you're offering...
[ he turns around in the spray of the water, sighing as it runs down his chest. he has a swimmer's build, his thighs nothing but lean, ropey muscles, his back broad. he's not bothered by his own nudity, a happy trail of dark fuzz down his front now that he's letting his hair grow. his chest the very same. ]
I'll do yours once you think you can stand upright. I'd feel terrible if I knocked you face first into the tub.
Also please. Marriage with benefits. We get the health insurance, all the clout, and we can both see who we want until we decide we like someone. Then we can have a very messy and dramatic breakup, get twitter hot on our tails and live happily ever after.
God, you’re right. Marry me immediately so you can move to Europe and not have to worry about bullshit like health insurance. Might not be too late to swim for Italy.
Oh, you know. He wants me to be more than the younger guy he fucks through his mid-life crises. Gotta calm him down every once in a while. He's great though. He'll make someone really happy after he wraps up his meltdown.
[despite his raging, violent hangover, koby makes a softly appreciative sound at the broad expanse of warm-toned skin in front of him, reaching out to trail his fingers lightly down quentin’s spine, from the nape of his neck to his narrow waist, resting his palm there for a moment. his hands are careful, roughened, palms callused, but they rest there like he knows the spot intimately, like he’s touched quentin there a million times b̷͖͑é̴̦c̸̼͝â̵̞u̸̲̅s̵̞̍e̵̖̕ ̵̯̽h̶̰́ẻ̵̻ ̵͜͠ḥ̴̄a̶̫͊s̶̻͂–
the thought slips away, like the water coursing down his back, now that the direct spray is being diverted. the bathroom is warm enough, steamy and heated, that koby doesn’t feel a chill as he reaches to grab one of the many, many little bottles of body wash and pop the top.] Well, don’t say things you don’t mean, maybe, dumbass.
[grumbling, grumbling, pouring the sandalwood-scented soap into his palm, then rubbing his hands together briskly.] Yeah, pretty sure that’d count as premeditated. The tequila shots are an accomplice, though, so maybe you’ll get off with a misdemeanor or something. [there are sponges, washcloths, even a few loofahs, but koby uses his hands to start sudsing up quentin’s back instead, skillful and focused, instinctively seeking out any knots of tension and starting to knead them away.]
Should I talk a little louder in retaliation? Remember, I'm the one with the weapon here, Mr. Hangover.
[ quentin laughs a little, but he quiets when the other man's hands slide along his back, the tense muscles from a morning of swimming. he's not the type to invite random strangers into bed or the shower when he's not under the influence of something, but something about this guy feels safe. it shouldn't, of course, but - t̸͍͉͉͋͑͘h̵̙̫̪͑͒̕e̵̙͇̺̽̈́͠y̵̡͙͙͑͒͠'̸̢̢̾͌̓v̴͖͎̈́̓̔e̴̡̻͔̔̔͊ b̵͇̠̦͋͒͆e̸̙̼̘̔̔͝e̵͚̠̦̚̕͠n̴̡͓͓̐̽͐ h̴͖͙͖̽͐͑e̴̘̝̓̓r̸͖̻̙̽̔͝e̸͔͎͙͆̒͝ a̵͔̟͔͒͋̚ d̴̡̪̟̈́͌o̴͕̟̽̿͠z̴̪̝̪͋̐͆e̴͉͍̝͋͊͠n̸̢̝̞͐̿̐ t̸̘̘͕́̀̔i̸̫̝͑̒͊͜m̸͓̟͇̈́́̒e̵̡͉͎͌͘̚s̵̡͍̼͒͐̿ b̴̫̪̀̿̓e̸̻͍͓͌̀͠f̵̢͉̻͛͆o̴͕͖͕͒̀͝r̸̡̘̫̐̀e̴͉̝͉̔́̈́
- tequila shots. it all makes sense. ]
A misdemeanor isn't so bad. I don't mind a little bad press, but can we wait on the whole murder thing until after the Olympics? I'd like to at least pretend I stand a chance at placing.
[ he hums, leaning his back into the callused hands. ] You can join my showers hungover any time you want with hands like those.
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