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[kobes]

Yeah? My first time here too.

[he’s heard about it, of course – knows a good amount of the people here, either personally or by reputation. quentin’s been off koby’s radar, though, since olympians tend to be a little too clean-cut and image-focused to be susceptible to shady business ventures. that and the complete lack of anticipated handsy behavior has koby caught off guard. softened, somehow.

a swallow, an exhale, then he rubs his hands together as quentin turns around, bends back, the line of his spine going tight, arched. koby drags his eyes upwards with a stuttering inhale, before starting to work the conditioner through the heavy, silky curls tumbling down quentin’s back.]

Conditioner is like basic shit, dude. [the accent thickens, drawls now, another guard let down.] It’s one level above soap. I’m not making you use gel or mousse or any shit like that.

[koby blinks a couple times, running his fingers slowly through quentin’s hair, coating every inch with the silky, sweet-smelling conditioner.] Yeah? There are some cool spots, for sure. The casino they set up down in Otherworld kicks ass, and people are always throwing parties on the roof or in the garden or whatever. Kinda the Balfours’s whole thing.

[longitudinal]

[ it's silly to close his eyes but he does, the feeling of koby's fingers in his hair soothing, some of the tension further easing itself from his back. he's half listening, and even with his back turned he reaches back, idly steadying himself with a hand on koby's side. ]

I use conditioner normally, thank you, but I was giving you an out. I'm a gentleman first.

[ he can't even say it with full seriousness, huffing a little laugh. ] I'm not complaining, though. You have nice hands. And something tells me you'd be very good at poker. It's a real riot here, though. Parties at all times and every day - the money must be nice.

[ not that he doesn't have money - he has enough to be paid to compete, enough from his father that if it falls through there's plenty to be had there. but he doesn't want to rely on his dad - his dad who is kind and adoring but wants the best for him. quentin doesn't know what the best is, either.

his eyes open slowly and he lets out a low sigh. ] Turn around - I'll do yours while mine soaks in.

[kobes]

Oh. [it’s soft, a response both to the words and to the gentle, almost soothing hand pressed to his side. koby’s eyes skip down for a moment, twining quentin’s dark curls around his fingers, and he lets out a soft huffing exhale.] Right. Yeah. Uh – well, it’s. In there. Soaking.

[a cleared throat and koby’s turning around quickly, nearly slipping, setting a hand against the tiled wall to support himself.] Y-Yeah, it’s – yeah. Riot. All kinds of money, yeah. Not that it’s much use here – I think any of the casino wins are set aside til we go home. Don’t really need money when room and board’s paid for.

[back to quentin, koby finds himself half-anticipating the press of those long, clever fingers into his hair, remembering the odd calm it had prompted before. he tells himself it’s because the almost-massage had helped with his headache. nothing else.]

I’ll show you the cool ones. The parties. You looking for, what – sponsorship deals? Is that how it works?