Please do. I'm sure it will be ripe, the juice will drip down my chin and the taste will linger on my tongue all morning. I might have to have a second.
But no scurvy - are you? I would eat more grapefruit on your behalf.
[ the kick at the door makes him snort and he rolls out of bed, moves to open it. he's pleased to see koby even if he's balancing plates. quentin himself is only in a pair of low slung, black harem pants, nothing more. his room is tidy enough save for his bed, and there are a few things on the bedside table - paper, pens, a daisy from the garden.
there's a book of world maps and something that looks more like fiction on one side of his bed. ]
Want help with that? Or are you worried I'll get jam everywhere?
[It's a good thing Quentin reaches to help with the plates because Koby is just -- staring. That intent, wide-eyed, absolutely enthralled look he'd gotten in the tub, in his bed, when Quentin's everything arrests him in place and all he can do is gaze in admiration. He very nearly forgets he's holding anything, zeroed in on the marks scattered over the other man's neck, his shoulders, the vee of his hips and the contour of his stomach.
[ koby stares and quentin can't help but notice. it's endearing really, the way the other man basically drinks in the sight of him. quentin, amused, takes both plates instead of just the one and backs into the room, taking the plates over to the bed that's left unmade.
it looks like he just woke up - hair unkempt, a little tangled. ]
Are you joining me for breakfast or would you rather have it in the doorway?
-- oh. [Koby clears his throat, coming back to himself, face immediately flushing red. He's got his glasses up on top of his head again, keeping the hair back, and some truly spectacular rainbow-striped shirt and -- overalls. He's wearing overalls. Absurd.
He reaches to push up the glasses that aren't there, bumps himself in the face instead and trails along with the two mugs the plates had been balanced on.]
Sorry. You're just -- [A pause, a cleared throat.] You look nice.
[ koby's brightly colored to his near stark utilitarianism, wearing what shows up in his closet without thinking much on it. he watches koby in the doorway and huffs a little, shaking his head and climbing up onto the bed. ]
Pass me one of those.
[ he holds his hand out, lax and still a little tired from sleeping so much over the last two days, body needing time to heal. ]
And you look nice - whatever these are - [ and if koby comes close enough, he'll hook a finger into his overall strap, giving him a gentle tug forward. ] Are interesting.
[To be fair, this is exactly what shows up in Koby's closet -- and while he resists it sometimes, pulling on the sort of loose, ill-fitting things he'd lived in for years, occasionally he gives into the urge to wear something brighter. The overalls make him think of his uniform, long since sacrificed to this place, though the multicolored stripes clash horribly with his hair.
Quentin doesn't seem to mind, though. Koby passes over one of the cups of coffee, then holds the other out of the way when he's tugged forward by one strap of the overalls. It makes him laugh, shuffling closer on socked feet.]
Overalls. They're pretty comfortable. My closet keeps filling up with them. [And they have deep pockets too -- ones that Koby pauses to pull handfuls of sugar and cream packets out of.] I'm not used to wearing so much color.
[ quentin would bottle the sound of that little laugh if he could, smiling up at him in a way that his cheeks almost dimple. he takes the mug, sips at the scalding liquid and hums, pleased at the heat of it. he sets it on the bedside table, blinking at the handfuls of sugars and creams. ]
I've seen people putting this in their coffee. How do you take yours?
[ he sits at the edge of the bed, reaching to take koby's mug if only so he can nudge him with a thigh to sit down. ]
The color is nice. But overalls. I'll have to ask for those. Useful.
[ nevermind he gives a tug with his free hand yet again, this time reaching for one of the deep, back pockets, to goose him just slightly. he's impatient today. ]
[Koby breaks off in a little squeaking gasp at the grip through the back pocket, stumbling forward, fortunately after Quentin's already taken the coffee.] Hey! That -- tickles, stop that!
[A huff, a light swat at Quentin's upper arm -- boyish, playful, the way he'd smack at Helmeppo or another cadet -- and Koby obligingly climbs onto the bed, scooting the sugar packets out of the way.] I'm not used to anything but the coffee. All the cream and sugar and things were for the captain, when I was at sea.
[It comes out -- mostly smooth, only a slight hitch in Koby's shoulders as he settles cross-legged.] But I've been trying a little bit of each, since being here.
[ quentin laughs a the way he's swatted, smacked, moving a little to make more room for koby, and to get a little closer to him. it's a travesty he's not in his lap, but he doesn't push, warmed actually by the lightness of his company.
he's not been sleeping well. he stretches out, enough for their knees to touch, stay in contact. he passes koby's mug to him once he's settled, reaching to inspect the sugar and the cream packets. how convenient. ]
And how did your captain take his coffee? [ there's a little raise of his brow before he opens a packet of sugar for himself and dumps it into his coffee, then a little cream packet. ]
We would put whiskey in our coffee on cold mornings.
[Part of Koby considers it, thinking about the warm press of Quentin against his back, the protective circle of his body. He misses it, has for a few days now, and being close again just makes it ache more.
He settles for the moment, for the gentle knock of his knee to Quentin’s, prompting a little quirk of a smile.] She took it with six spoonfuls of sugar and one third of the cream in the pitcher. Not one fourth. One third. She could tell the difference.
[There's a definite change in Koby when he tells the story, the way he leans closer to Quentin, fidgets with the sugar packets, lining them up, the furrow between his brows.] That was my job. Most things were my job. That was -- before I enlisted.
[ quentin drinks from his mug, the coffee sweetened in a way that tastes foreign, but not unpleasant. he, too, will have to experiment some himself. but he listens to the story, the way koby speaks of it so quickly, familiar, leaning closer. but there's something else there.
he's tired, not as sharp as he might be, but something about koby draws his eye. with his free hand he reaches to stroke along koby's calf idly, adding more contact even if he wants to reach and press away the little furrow between his eyes. ]
Ah - you worked as a hand on your ship before you truly enlisted. That's difficult work. But I'll have you know coffee isn't your job here, nor is breakfast. Commander, or not.
[It's the hand along his calf, beneath the cuffed leg of the overalls, warm and solid and real, that let's Koby do it, let's him breathe out, loosen his shoulders, come back to the moment. It says you're here, not there, it can't touch you ever again.
He reaches for the other mug, leans across Quentin’s lap as he does, then sits back, wrapping both hands around the warmth.] I was a prisoner on a pirate ship for two years. When I first went to sea, after leaving the home. That's -- when that all happened.
[A breath, in, hold, out. Focusing on the warmth, of the mug, of Quentin’s hand.] And then I was rescued and I joined the Marines. [An end on it, over and done with, let it lie, let it die.]
[ quentin's palm stills on koby's calf as he listens. i was a prisoner, koby says and it seems like the sea roars angrily in his ears. he squeezes his leg softly, listening. a prisoner for two years. how has he come to find this little navigator here, of all places - where their damaged, frayed ends line up so well. ]
You joined the marines. In an effort to stop that from happening to anyone else, or was it something else?
[ a world full of oceans, he remembers koby saying, and there's no wonder there had been a vast array of priates. ]
[Koby sips the coffee, wrinkles his nose, then grabs a sugar packet to tear open with his teeth, pour into the mug, swirling it slightly to mix it in. The comment gets a smile, a pleased, surprised thing, a lean closer so their shoulders bump together.]
That's it exactly. To help people who couldn't help themselves. Keep them safe. [Another sip, more satisfied this time.] People like me.
[Then, shaking his head:] Rescued. I was too scared to try and escape on my own. If I hadn't been saved, I would've stayed there the rest of my life.
[ a small smile pulls at quentin's lips, his eyes falling to his own mug, a swirl of sugar and pale cream not quite wholly blended together. ]
You have good friends, then. To come find you in the end and free you, but I don't believe for a moment you wouldn't have found the strength to discover a way out. You don't survive harrowing things like that and come out defeated.
[ he shifts a little, letting their shoulders stay touching, his hand sliding to koby's knee, thumb gently pressing little circles into his kneecap beneath the denim.
it's hard not to think of the regent, the whole ship full to the brim of men and women he was raised with, his home and the spray of salty air. his father's blood staining the deck. the cold room he'd been kept in for months, watched, studied. the slithering snake of a man with his hands on him, his tongue against his ear.
[There's something there, something in the way Quentin’s gaze flickers away, the circle of his thumb over Koby's knee. Something that tugs at the explorer, the investigator, the navigator charting mysterious waters.
But Quentin isn't the sea. He's a man with a life writ long before the dusty arena, the steamy bath, the nest of sugar packets where they sit now. And for once, Koby holds his tongue, though he leans closer, one hand coming to settle over Quentin’s, trace the notches of his knuckles.]
It was another pirate, actually. We hadn't met until then, but he saw I needed help, so. He helped me. [A bemused, soft huff, another coffee sip.] He's a funny sort of pirate.
[Koby glances up, glasses tangled in his hair, those serious eyes searching Quentin’s face for a long moment.] I am. We all are, here. Sort of a...fresh start, strange and dangerous as it is. Uncharted waters, if you like. [A squeeze of Quentin’s hand.] Drink, before it gets cold.
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So...thank you.
I'm glad you understand the proper order of things. Any particular requests?
For breakfast. The food kind.
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Is that helpful?
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[Brat.]
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But no scurvy - are you? I would eat more grapefruit on your behalf.
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Toast. You get toast.
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What are you having?
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I'll bring the whole jar.
Coffee, I think. I don't get hungry that often.
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Bring something you enjoy. I’m sure you’ll be hungry and regret it.
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I brought one of everything, in case. Open the door?
[And then: kicking at the door. Four down, like Quentin had said.]
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there's a book of world maps and something that looks more like fiction on one side of his bed. ]
Want help with that? Or are you worried I'll get jam everywhere?
[ a grin, and he's reaching for a plate anyway. ]
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Then, blinking, eloquently:] Huh?
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it looks like he just woke up - hair unkempt, a little tangled. ]
Are you joining me for breakfast or would you rather have it in the doorway?
[ a grin. ]
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He reaches to push up the glasses that aren't there, bumps himself in the face instead and trails along with the two mugs the plates had been balanced on.]
Sorry. You're just -- [A pause, a cleared throat.] You look nice.
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Pass me one of those.
[ he holds his hand out, lax and still a little tired from sleeping so much over the last two days, body needing time to heal. ]
And you look nice - whatever these are - [ and if koby comes close enough, he'll hook a finger into his overall strap, giving him a gentle tug forward. ] Are interesting.
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Quentin doesn't seem to mind, though. Koby passes over one of the cups of coffee, then holds the other out of the way when he's tugged forward by one strap of the overalls. It makes him laugh, shuffling closer on socked feet.]
Overalls. They're pretty comfortable. My closet keeps filling up with them. [And they have deep pockets too -- ones that Koby pauses to pull handfuls of sugar and cream packets out of.] I'm not used to wearing so much color.
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I've seen people putting this in their coffee. How do you take yours?
[ he sits at the edge of the bed, reaching to take koby's mug if only so he can nudge him with a thigh to sit down. ]
The color is nice. But overalls. I'll have to ask for those. Useful.
[ nevermind he gives a tug with his free hand yet again, this time reaching for one of the deep, back pockets, to goose him just slightly. he's impatient today. ]
Eat with me. Tell me about your coffee.
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[Koby breaks off in a little squeaking gasp at the grip through the back pocket, stumbling forward, fortunately after Quentin's already taken the coffee.] Hey! That -- tickles, stop that!
[A huff, a light swat at Quentin's upper arm -- boyish, playful, the way he'd smack at Helmeppo or another cadet -- and Koby obligingly climbs onto the bed, scooting the sugar packets out of the way.] I'm not used to anything but the coffee. All the cream and sugar and things were for the captain, when I was at sea.
[It comes out -- mostly smooth, only a slight hitch in Koby's shoulders as he settles cross-legged.] But I've been trying a little bit of each, since being here.
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he's not been sleeping well. he stretches out, enough for their knees to touch, stay in contact. he passes koby's mug to him once he's settled, reaching to inspect the sugar and the cream packets. how convenient. ]
And how did your captain take his coffee? [ there's a little raise of his brow before he opens a packet of sugar for himself and dumps it into his coffee, then a little cream packet. ]
We would put whiskey in our coffee on cold mornings.
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He settles for the moment, for the gentle knock of his knee to Quentin’s, prompting a little quirk of a smile.] She took it with six spoonfuls of sugar and one third of the cream in the pitcher. Not one fourth. One third. She could tell the difference.
[There's a definite change in Koby when he tells the story, the way he leans closer to Quentin, fidgets with the sugar packets, lining them up, the furrow between his brows.] That was my job. Most things were my job. That was -- before I enlisted.
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he's tired, not as sharp as he might be, but something about koby draws his eye. with his free hand he reaches to stroke along koby's calf idly, adding more contact even if he wants to reach and press away the little furrow between his eyes. ]
Ah - you worked as a hand on your ship before you truly enlisted. That's difficult work. But I'll have you know coffee isn't your job here, nor is breakfast. Commander, or not.
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He reaches for the other mug, leans across Quentin’s lap as he does, then sits back, wrapping both hands around the warmth.] I was a prisoner on a pirate ship for two years. When I first went to sea, after leaving the home. That's -- when that all happened.
[A breath, in, hold, out. Focusing on the warmth, of the mug, of Quentin’s hand.] And then I was rescued and I joined the Marines. [An end on it, over and done with, let it lie, let it die.]
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You joined the marines. In an effort to stop that from happening to anyone else, or was it something else?
[ a world full of oceans, he remembers koby saying, and there's no wonder there had been a vast array of priates. ]
You escaped.
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That's it exactly. To help people who couldn't help themselves. Keep them safe. [Another sip, more satisfied this time.] People like me.
[Then, shaking his head:] Rescued. I was too scared to try and escape on my own. If I hadn't been saved, I would've stayed there the rest of my life.
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You have good friends, then. To come find you in the end and free you, but I don't believe for a moment you wouldn't have found the strength to discover a way out. You don't survive harrowing things like that and come out defeated.
[ he shifts a little, letting their shoulders stay touching, his hand sliding to koby's knee, thumb gently pressing little circles into his kneecap beneath the denim.
it's hard not to think of the regent, the whole ship full to the brim of men and women he was raised with, his home and the spray of salty air. his father's blood staining the deck. the cold room he'd been kept in for months, watched, studied. the slithering snake of a man with his hands on him, his tongue against his ear.
you will win this war for me. ]
You're making your own way, now.
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But Quentin isn't the sea. He's a man with a life writ long before the dusty arena, the steamy bath, the nest of sugar packets where they sit now. And for once, Koby holds his tongue, though he leans closer, one hand coming to settle over Quentin’s, trace the notches of his knuckles.]
It was another pirate, actually. We hadn't met until then, but he saw I needed help, so. He helped me. [A bemused, soft huff, another coffee sip.] He's a funny sort of pirate.
[Koby glances up, glasses tangled in his hair, those serious eyes searching Quentin’s face for a long moment.] I am. We all are, here. Sort of a...fresh start, strange and dangerous as it is. Uncharted waters, if you like. [A squeeze of Quentin’s hand.] Drink, before it gets cold.
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