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.