[greedily, koby's hands are reaching out, callused fingertips and palms, a sailor's hands, tracing over the fluffy shape of harry's chest with a visibly pleased expression. he's not hairless himself -- it's under his arms, trailing down his stomach, but it's all baby pink and easily missed. there's something about harry's, the shape of his shoulders, his chest, beneath that dark carpet that koby finds he likes.
hands pressed to harry's body, eagerly, impatiently, unflinching at how his illness has depleted him, koby kisses him hard, just as hungry, hips rolling with youthful neediness.] Please? [another kiss, longer, open-mouthed, messy.] Please, Harry?
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hands pressed to harry's body, eagerly, impatiently, unflinching at how his illness has depleted him, koby kisses him hard, just as hungry, hips rolling with youthful neediness.] Please? [another kiss, longer, open-mouthed, messy.] Please, Harry?