[it is endearing, a sort of softness that koby feels oddly protective over, though harry is fully twice his age. it makes him smile, hands coming up from the unbuttoned shirt to cradle either (fluffy) side of the man's face, beaming in that bright, earnest way he still has, even after all this time.] One of them is, at least. You should ask Tim about it. [a quirked eyebrow, a thread of the wickedness that had gotten such a sweet-faced young man nominated for such scandalous things during prom.

harry's hands slip lower, tracing over the contour of muscle, more defined than the overalls and sweatervests would suggest. koby wakes early, pushes himself, training the slender slip of a body he's been given into something he's happy to exist within. the fear and shame is mostly gone, burned away with the searing heat of how good every bit of him can feel.

shifting his hips, legs spreading wider, koby leans in, words soft and heated against harry's mouth:] Am I? Then you should probably give me my reward now, hm? [the muscle in his stomach, his waist goes tense, flexing as he slowly rocks his hips again, more deliberate this time.] Or do I need to say please?