[ 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.]
[ he should be more disturbed that this manor plucked him up out of his home and dropped him here, but he's not. it means settling solastra behind him, coming to this place that seems so strange and foreign but so simple. he's been given a bed, a room, food, clothing. he can roam as far as he can, he can do what he wants.
he can share strawberry jam with a pretty-faced man in his own bed. he smiles a little, letting koby lick his finger clean and he does indeed go to pull back, but is halted. well, then. ]
It is. I've never had anything like this.
[ not sweet - not straight from the jar. freely offered and freely taken. but if koby thought he could keep his hand captive for long, he thought wrong, he does pull away - he even licks his own finger clean though koby has done a sufficient job. it's almost sheepish when he says it, smiling a little down at the jar, turning it in his hand to read its little labels. ]
Can I keep this?
[ like a sailor who is not given nice things often. he looks at the spread of food on the plates and decides to try it with bread - and instead of using utensils to fish it out, he merely dips a corner of the bread in the jam and takes a bite. he hums, delighted yet again, and offers the other half to koby. ]
[Koby leans back, swallows, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth to savor the taste. It's summery, sunwarmed, the kind of fruit that grows far from the sea, but it's layered with the salt of Quentin's skin, and Koby thinks -- well. He thinks about the taste of Quentin elsewhere, other ways, about what else he could put his mouth on, swallowing again, the tips of his ears pinking.
But then he sits back, watches the curve of Quentin's smile, a subtly different one, this one soft and a little -- shy, almost. Koby feels like he could spend a long, long time learning the different ways Quentin's handsome face breaks into a grin, all the slight variations, could spend hours just gazing at him. This one, though -- this is one of his favorites.]
Of course. I brought it for you. [Chipper, like it goes without saying, like slipping the jar in his pocket hadn't been an impulse sparked by wondering about that exact look on Quentin's face, wondering if he could inspire it again and again.] They have plenty, anyway.
[The bread is accepted, nibbled at thoughtfully. Koby's appetite is tricky on a good day, stomach usually knotted or distracted, but he nods in agreement, settling back with his shoulder pressed to Quentin's.] Not better necessarily, but. It's good.
Mm, bread is not as easy to come by where I'm from. There's war - the country that grows the land's grain has restricted trade with my home.
[ he reaches for another piece of the bread, pressing it between his fingers, the soft, open texture pleasant. he even brings it to his nose to smell it before popping it into his mouth with a pleased hum. koby settles in with their shoulders touching and he relaxes a little, unable to help the way he reaches for bite after bite - sometimes fruit, sometimes bread, sometimes a piece of egg cooked to a little fluffy shape.
but he comes back to the jam, dipping a finger in once and licking it clean, then sweeping up another fingerful to offer koby. ]
I'm a sailor - my stomach is easy to please so long as it's full. But this? This is one of the best things I've tasted here.
I see. [Koby files it away, thoughtfully -- war isn't unfamiliar to him, but the idea of it being countries at conflict, of different pieces of a world, rather than one supreme whole... It's different than what Koby knows, of a world order and the pirates who threaten it with anarchy. It feels more complicated.] They have lots of bread here. [He means: I'll bring it to you. He means: I'll remember what you don't have and make it for you.
He eats less, watching quietly, sipping his coffee and nibbling his toast, shoulders loose and eyes thoughtful. Quentin has some of the easy, open gratitude that Koby's always liked in sailors, a simple understanding of sea and sky and salt, of the fleeting enjoyment in things like a good meal, good company, a tankard and a song and a favorable breeze. It makes the homesickness ease, replaces it with a warmth that has Koby smiling, propping his chin in one hand and watching Quentin eat.
The offered jam is obligingly licked off again, without embarrassment, and Koby mumbles around it:] I'll bring you more. They had other flavors, some I'd never even heard of. [There's jam on his lips, his chin and he grins around the strawberry in his mouth.] I want to try them all.
[ he eats probably more than he should, picking at cheeses, bread, fruit, and little pastries. the eggs are rich and savory - all of it is beyond a breakfast he would have on the sea. and while it's not dissimilar from the breakfast he'd have at alonso's bedside, it comes with so few strings attached here.
it's why he looks pleased when koby takes the jam from his finger again without question, and quentin's eyes remain on his as he speaks. ]
We should make it our mission to try them all.
[ the idea is so simple and so frivolous - so unimportant in the grand scheme of things - but the idea of sharing jars of sweetly flavored jams with someone feels so freeing. to make plans and believe, even for a moment, that they can happen, is heartening.
his eyes flicker to the smiling line of koby's lips and it's impossible to ignore how he can see the sticky pink glistening on his skin. he reaches to thumb at koby's chin first, wiping some away and bringing it to his lips to taste. he hums, amused: ] And I didn't think it could get any sweeter - how do you do it?
[ and he wastes no time leaning forward and kissing koby, almost chaste were it not for the way he sucks the swell of his bottom lip into his mouth to clear it of the jam. ]
[There's something to seeing that, to watching Quentin eat that soothes that fretful, fussy part of Koby, the part that still looks down to where the bruised ribs are, that thinks of the weariness, the exhaustion in the man's dark eyes, the way he'd collapsed into Koby's bed and slept until dawn. Sailors eat quick and simple and just enough, no time to enjoy, to indulge. But Quentin indulges, and it's because Koby brought him something, made sure he was eating, made sure he had time. And it feels -- good.
Just like it feels good to laugh about the idea of setting a mission to try every sort of jam in this gilded prison, to think of something so silly, so light, instead of the grim weight of their captivity.] Quite the mission. You've seen how big that breakfast table is. We'll be eating nothing but jam for weeks. Are you sure you're up to it?
[And it feels so, so good to have Quentin reach out and touch his face, the warm roughness of his thumb like a familiar song, Koby's head tipping towards the touch almost without thinking. He laughs, rolls his eyes at the anticipated, still-amusing line, and leans forward to accept that kiss, with an eagerness that bumps their noses together, has him huffing another laugh into Quentin's mouth. One hand comes up, cradles the side of the other man's face, like Koby's savoring the feel of him, the taste. Like he'd missed it.]
[ koby laughs into the kiss and quentin echoes it, what with the way their noses bump together but he tilts his head just enough to deepen the kiss, to feel the sweet and sticky jam on koby's lips. it's easy to relax in koby's company and usually he doesn't trust or relax so easily, but something about the other sailor...
he pulls away slowly, nudging their noses together like they'd bumped before. ]
I'm up for the task. Nothing but jam and you? I do not know for a moment how I will survive.
[ he presses another soft kiss to koby's lips before he leans back, unable to help but reach again for bread to dip into the jam, pleased with the taste of it the moment it hits his tongue. ]
This is all very kind of you - the healing of my battle wounds, the bath, your company, and now breakfast... I should find a way to repay you.
[ his smile is easy, and finally with the last piece of bread he seems sated, falling back onto the mess of covers. it's foolish the way he reaches for koby's hand, the way he wants to touch him and be close to him. ] What payment will you accept?
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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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[ 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. ]
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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.
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[ 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.
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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.]
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he can share strawberry jam with a pretty-faced man in his own bed. he smiles a little, letting koby lick his finger clean and he does indeed go to pull back, but is halted. well, then. ]
It is. I've never had anything like this.
[ not sweet - not straight from the jar. freely offered and freely taken. but if koby thought he could keep his hand captive for long, he thought wrong, he does pull away - he even licks his own finger clean though koby has done a sufficient job. it's almost sheepish when he says it, smiling a little down at the jar, turning it in his hand to read its little labels. ]
Can I keep this?
[ like a sailor who is not given nice things often. he looks at the spread of food on the plates and decides to try it with bread - and instead of using utensils to fish it out, he merely dips a corner of the bread in the jam and takes a bite. he hums, delighted yet again, and offers the other half to koby. ]
It's better on this.
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But then he sits back, watches the curve of Quentin's smile, a subtly different one, this one soft and a little -- shy, almost. Koby feels like he could spend a long, long time learning the different ways Quentin's handsome face breaks into a grin, all the slight variations, could spend hours just gazing at him. This one, though -- this is one of his favorites.]
Of course. I brought it for you. [Chipper, like it goes without saying, like slipping the jar in his pocket hadn't been an impulse sparked by wondering about that exact look on Quentin's face, wondering if he could inspire it again and again.] They have plenty, anyway.
[The bread is accepted, nibbled at thoughtfully. Koby's appetite is tricky on a good day, stomach usually knotted or distracted, but he nods in agreement, settling back with his shoulder pressed to Quentin's.] Not better necessarily, but. It's good.
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[ he reaches for another piece of the bread, pressing it between his fingers, the soft, open texture pleasant. he even brings it to his nose to smell it before popping it into his mouth with a pleased hum. koby settles in with their shoulders touching and he relaxes a little, unable to help the way he reaches for bite after bite - sometimes fruit, sometimes bread, sometimes a piece of egg cooked to a little fluffy shape.
but he comes back to the jam, dipping a finger in once and licking it clean, then sweeping up another fingerful to offer koby. ]
I'm a sailor - my stomach is easy to please so long as it's full. But this? This is one of the best things I've tasted here.
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He eats less, watching quietly, sipping his coffee and nibbling his toast, shoulders loose and eyes thoughtful. Quentin has some of the easy, open gratitude that Koby's always liked in sailors, a simple understanding of sea and sky and salt, of the fleeting enjoyment in things like a good meal, good company, a tankard and a song and a favorable breeze. It makes the homesickness ease, replaces it with a warmth that has Koby smiling, propping his chin in one hand and watching Quentin eat.
The offered jam is obligingly licked off again, without embarrassment, and Koby mumbles around it:] I'll bring you more. They had other flavors, some I'd never even heard of. [There's jam on his lips, his chin and he grins around the strawberry in his mouth.] I want to try them all.
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it's why he looks pleased when koby takes the jam from his finger again without question, and quentin's eyes remain on his as he speaks. ]
We should make it our mission to try them all.
[ the idea is so simple and so frivolous - so unimportant in the grand scheme of things - but the idea of sharing jars of sweetly flavored jams with someone feels so freeing. to make plans and believe, even for a moment, that they can happen, is heartening.
his eyes flicker to the smiling line of koby's lips and it's impossible to ignore how he can see the sticky pink glistening on his skin. he reaches to thumb at koby's chin first, wiping some away and bringing it to his lips to taste. he hums, amused: ] And I didn't think it could get any sweeter - how do you do it?
[ and he wastes no time leaning forward and kissing koby, almost chaste were it not for the way he sucks the swell of his bottom lip into his mouth to clear it of the jam. ]
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Just like it feels good to laugh about the idea of setting a mission to try every sort of jam in this gilded prison, to think of something so silly, so light, instead of the grim weight of their captivity.] Quite the mission. You've seen how big that breakfast table is. We'll be eating nothing but jam for weeks. Are you sure you're up to it?
[And it feels so, so good to have Quentin reach out and touch his face, the warm roughness of his thumb like a familiar song, Koby's head tipping towards the touch almost without thinking. He laughs, rolls his eyes at the anticipated, still-amusing line, and leans forward to accept that kiss, with an eagerness that bumps their noses together, has him huffing another laugh into Quentin's mouth. One hand comes up, cradles the side of the other man's face, like Koby's savoring the feel of him, the taste. Like he'd missed it.]
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he pulls away slowly, nudging their noses together like they'd bumped before. ]
I'm up for the task. Nothing but jam and you? I do not know for a moment how I will survive.
[ he presses another soft kiss to koby's lips before he leans back, unable to help but reach again for bread to dip into the jam, pleased with the taste of it the moment it hits his tongue. ]
This is all very kind of you - the healing of my battle wounds, the bath, your company, and now breakfast... I should find a way to repay you.
[ his smile is easy, and finally with the last piece of bread he seems sated, falling back onto the mess of covers. it's foolish the way he reaches for koby's hand, the way he wants to touch him and be close to him. ] What payment will you accept?
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