[ 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.
A pirate saving a civilian from pirates? That is rich.
[ he smiles a little at the idea, drinking again from his coffee but finding he doesn't exactly have a taste for it now. he'll drink it anyway - he doesn't waste anything, certainly not when it has been carefully brought to him.
koby's hand over his own makes him turn his palm up, enough to lace their fingers together idly over his thigh. his eyes raise, meeting the clear blue of koby's and he grins a little, the easy, warm façade returning with practiced precision. there's no need to draw anyone's attention to the obvious - this place is as fleeting as a sea storm. they've been brought here, but how long until they're returned?
it's better not to hang one's hopes on anything. quentin learned that a very, very long time ago. ]
I wouldn't think to waste a drop of it, even if it turned cold, as it was brought so sweetly to me by your own hands.
[ he takes another sip for good measure, pulling his free hand away from koby's then to pick up a piece of toast from the plate. ]
Yeah. Hard to separate people into good and bad when there are helpful pirates muddying the waters. [A touch of self-deprecation there -- Koby knows his urge to rigidly categorize doesn't hold up in the real world. People aren't that simple.
Including Quentin, even as he laces their fingers together, as he smiles with carefree ease. There was something there, gliding like a shadow beneath quiet waves. Koby unconsciously leans forward, intent, like he can pull the secrets free by just gazing up at that smile. Then he lets it go, slipping through his fingers, disappearing into the depths.
Quentin will reveal things in his own time, if he chooses to or -- or he won't. Koby doesn't need to unravel him like a snarled net to enjoy being here, breathing in his scent, resting his cheek on Quentin’s bare shoulder.] Yes, it was very taxing to pour it into a mug and walk upstairs. My culinary skills have been exhausted. [A pause, then he seems to remember something, straightening up and pulling -- an entire jar of jam out of his pocket.]
I think there are only people - neither good, nor bad. Just with all too wide a variety of amibitions and goals. After all, the dictator thinks he's right and believes he's right and good. The priest does the same. Who is good, then, if we're made to decide what that is.
[ he shrugs a little, blinking over at koby who presses closer, whose cheek comes to rest briefly on his bare shoulder. it's nice, though - the closeness, the nearness, when his chest feels like he's lost at sea. and he's never lost. he almost looks disappointed when koby pulls away, but it's short-lived. instead, he sees the jar and he laughs, surprised, bright and loud and open. ]
Those things hide that?
[ he takes the jam jar, delighted, and pops open the top. he's not had something sweet like this in so long, so he dips a finger into the sticky sweet substance and licks it into his mouth, humming at how tangy and sharp and sweet it is. it's good - expensive and fresh and flavorful. he almost looks boyishly excited over it.
he doesn't even think when he scoops another dollop onto his finger and offers it out to koby. ]
Mmmmm. [It's a noncommittal sound, but it's not dismissive. Quentin sounds like Shanks, like Garp, like Luffy, in a way. If there's good and bad Marines, there are good and bad pirates. Nothing is as simple as Koby had believed it to be, regardless of what world he finds himself in. He nudges a little closer, thinks about flopping back into the tangled sheets and taking Quentin with him and not thinking about how complicated the world is for a while.
But then -- jam, the pop of the lid and Quentin's grin (bright, warm, delighted) as he digs his fingers in. There's nothing complicated about that, and Koby grins right back, patting the pockets of the overalls.] Very, very deep pockets have their uses.
[There isn't any hesitation, because the sea is a place of hardtack and canned pickles and dried lemons, and the sugary strawberry drips down Quentin's fingers and Koby doesn't want to waste. So he leans forward quickly, takes the jammy finger in his mouth, sucks it clean before he can second guess himself. A hum, pleased, surprised at the sharp-sweet flavor, eyes widening approvingly as his tongue curls around Quentin's finger, savoring every last bit.] Mmmhmm -- s'goo. [Mumbled, careful of his teeth, one hand reaching to hold onto Quentin's wrist so he doesn't pull away yet.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
Toast. You get toast.
no subject
What are you having?
no subject
I'll bring the whole jar.
Coffee, I think. I don't get hungry that often.
no subject
Bring something you enjoy. I’m sure you’ll be hungry and regret it.
no subject
I brought one of everything, in case. Open the door?
[And then: kicking at the door. Four down, like Quentin had said.]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
Then, blinking, eloquently:] Huh?
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
[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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.]
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
[ he smiles a little at the idea, drinking again from his coffee but finding he doesn't exactly have a taste for it now. he'll drink it anyway - he doesn't waste anything, certainly not when it has been carefully brought to him.
koby's hand over his own makes him turn his palm up, enough to lace their fingers together idly over his thigh. his eyes raise, meeting the clear blue of koby's and he grins a little, the easy, warm façade returning with practiced precision. there's no need to draw anyone's attention to the obvious - this place is as fleeting as a sea storm. they've been brought here, but how long until they're returned?
it's better not to hang one's hopes on anything. quentin learned that a very, very long time ago. ]
I wouldn't think to waste a drop of it, even if it turned cold, as it was brought so sweetly to me by your own hands.
[ he takes another sip for good measure, pulling his free hand away from koby's then to pick up a piece of toast from the plate. ]
no subject
Including Quentin, even as he laces their fingers together, as he smiles with carefree ease. There was something there, gliding like a shadow beneath quiet waves. Koby unconsciously leans forward, intent, like he can pull the secrets free by just gazing up at that smile. Then he lets it go, slipping through his fingers, disappearing into the depths.
Quentin will reveal things in his own time, if he chooses to or -- or he won't. Koby doesn't need to unravel him like a snarled net to enjoy being here, breathing in his scent, resting his cheek on Quentin’s bare shoulder.] Yes, it was very taxing to pour it into a mug and walk upstairs. My culinary skills have been exhausted. [A pause, then he seems to remember something, straightening up and pulling -- an entire jar of jam out of his pocket.]
Almost forgot, sorry.
no subject
[ he shrugs a little, blinking over at koby who presses closer, whose cheek comes to rest briefly on his bare shoulder. it's nice, though - the closeness, the nearness, when his chest feels like he's lost at sea. and he's never lost. he almost looks disappointed when koby pulls away, but it's short-lived. instead, he sees the jar and he laughs, surprised, bright and loud and open. ]
Those things hide that?
[ he takes the jam jar, delighted, and pops open the top. he's not had something sweet like this in so long, so he dips a finger into the sticky sweet substance and licks it into his mouth, humming at how tangy and sharp and sweet it is. it's good - expensive and fresh and flavorful. he almost looks boyishly excited over it.
he doesn't even think when he scoops another dollop onto his finger and offers it out to koby. ]
Try this.
no subject
But then -- jam, the pop of the lid and Quentin's grin (bright, warm, delighted) as he digs his fingers in. There's nothing complicated about that, and Koby grins right back, patting the pockets of the overalls.] Very, very deep pockets have their uses.
[There isn't any hesitation, because the sea is a place of hardtack and canned pickles and dried lemons, and the sugary strawberry drips down Quentin's fingers and Koby doesn't want to waste. So he leans forward quickly, takes the jammy finger in his mouth, sucks it clean before he can second guess himself. A hum, pleased, surprised at the sharp-sweet flavor, eyes widening approvingly as his tongue curls around Quentin's finger, savoring every last bit.] Mmmhmm -- s'goo. [Mumbled, careful of his teeth, one hand reaching to hold onto Quentin's wrist so he doesn't pull away yet.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)