[ he wakes to the sounds of his father's voice calling the crew to deck sometimes after he dreams of waking in the crow's nest, feeling the way the ship rocks and turns as it floats lazily toward their destination. the very fond, booming: quentin, get your lazy ass up and point us in the right direction. but he wakes to a canopy over his bed, strange wallpaper, stranger surroundings. landlocked.
quentin sighs a little, squeezes koby's hand back and turns to nose against his forehead, humming a little. ]
Mm, maybe. He taught me to love it, so it was inevitable, really.
[ there's a laugh there and he shakes his head, shifting to allow koby closer still, reveling in the comfort and the warmth of someone beside him. he'd woken on those dreams today - sun at his back, waves beneath his feet, and his father shouting something he couldn't hear over the rush of it all.
and just like that, it passes, he feels the ache in his heart and the pull in his gut of yearning and longing, and he tries his best to shut the doors. quentin can't live long in the past - it's better he doesn't get so distracted. (it's better he doesn't get hurt). ]
You didn't eat much - do I need to bring breakfast to you next, or is this going to be an uphill battle to make you enjoy more than just the sticky jam from my fingers? Not that I minded that part at all.
[Koby feels the mystery of who Quentin is, the threads that weave together to create the man lying next to him, strange and familiar in equal measure, a sailor, a navigator, salt-taste and ocean spray, all things he knows as well as his own name -- feels that retreat like seafoam on a retreating wave, slipping through his fingers. Something's been revealed, some great and terrible grief, and Koby could speculate, could note it down and turn it into one of his many reports about the guests/prisoners of this place.
He won't. It's too -- raw, delicate, something fragile in his hands that he could crush if he's too rough or careless in handling it. Koby longs to know more, to ask his thousands of questions, but not for his notes. He just...wants to know. He wants to know Quentin.
But that gets swallowed back, the seafoam of it tickling his fingers as it slips away, as he shifts to tuck closer into Quentin's side and huffs a little laugh.] I don't get that hungry, I told you. I'm used to not needing much. [Read: used to going without.] Maybe after we've slept. [Stern again, looking up with glasses-marks on his scrunched nose, with his cheek pressed to Quentin's shoulder:] You should sleep as much as possible. I haven't forgotten you're hurt, you know.
I’m fine. I didn’t disappear over night and I even made it to my own room in one piece. Incredible, isn’t it? My magic is far reaching and powerful.
[ but koby is warm at his side, a pleasant weight against him as his mind tosses and turns with memories. this place is a small paradise, sure, but for how long? how long until he’s thrust back into a world of cold, dark rooms and greedy hands?
he’ll take this for what it is. koby against him warm and soft, beaming up at him, ordering him to rest and heal. he grins and with little preamble leans and kisses koby, the kiss itself chaste and soft, a mere pressing nad lingering of lips.
he comes back a little heavy eyed, sleepy, and squeezes him to his side a little closer. ]
You can go if you want. While I sleep.
[ because he does want sleep, he does want to heal and rest and soak up as much of this energy as he can. he traces patterns on koby’s back, closing his eyes, his cheek pressed to the man’s forehead. ]
[That gets a huffy laugh, one knee tangling around one of Quentin's legs, just to be closer, just to feel him in one more spot. There are questions still buzzing in Koby's mind -- now as always, that'll likely never change -- but they're quiet for the moment.] You don't melt in the rain either, I bet. Amazing.
[Tipping his chin upwards, Koby watches Quentin's eyes slip closed, hears that soft, weary note in his voice. What would it mean if he started counting each restful night he was able to give this man? Would it need to mean anything more than a port in a storm, a place to batten down the hatches and ride out whatever comes? Would he want it to?]
I don't want to leave. [Softly, settling closer against Quentin, hand slipping over to find the steady pulse of his heart.] If I wake up before you this time, I'll just eat the rest of the jam, hm?
[ his eyes don't open again as he settles into the warmth of a body beside his, of the bed plush and thick beneath him. he hums a little in acknowledgement, lips pulling into a faint, sleepy smile. ]
Then don't leave. Stay as long or as little as you wish to stay. But if you eat all the jam I'll have you know I'll have to find a way to it through you.
[ there's a teasing, tired lilt to his voice that is covered up by a yawn next. ] See how very much you taste of strawberries when I allow my mouth to do the chasing.
[ his words slur sleepily and he shifts to nudge a little bit closer to him, nose falling into the faint, pink hair. ]
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quentin sighs a little, squeezes koby's hand back and turns to nose against his forehead, humming a little. ]
Mm, maybe. He taught me to love it, so it was inevitable, really.
[ there's a laugh there and he shakes his head, shifting to allow koby closer still, reveling in the comfort and the warmth of someone beside him. he'd woken on those dreams today - sun at his back, waves beneath his feet, and his father shouting something he couldn't hear over the rush of it all.
and just like that, it passes, he feels the ache in his heart and the pull in his gut of yearning and longing, and he tries his best to shut the doors. quentin can't live long in the past - it's better he doesn't get so distracted. (it's better he doesn't get hurt). ]
You didn't eat much - do I need to bring breakfast to you next, or is this going to be an uphill battle to make you enjoy more than just the sticky jam from my fingers? Not that I minded that part at all.
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He won't. It's too -- raw, delicate, something fragile in his hands that he could crush if he's too rough or careless in handling it. Koby longs to know more, to ask his thousands of questions, but not for his notes. He just...wants to know. He wants to know Quentin.
But that gets swallowed back, the seafoam of it tickling his fingers as it slips away, as he shifts to tuck closer into Quentin's side and huffs a little laugh.] I don't get that hungry, I told you. I'm used to not needing much. [Read: used to going without.] Maybe after we've slept. [Stern again, looking up with glasses-marks on his scrunched nose, with his cheek pressed to Quentin's shoulder:] You should sleep as much as possible. I haven't forgotten you're hurt, you know.
no subject
[ but koby is warm at his side, a pleasant weight against him as his mind tosses and turns with memories. this place is a small paradise, sure, but for how long? how long until he’s thrust back into a world of cold, dark rooms and greedy hands?
he’ll take this for what it is. koby against him warm and soft, beaming up at him, ordering him to rest and heal. he grins and with little preamble leans and kisses koby, the kiss itself chaste and soft, a mere pressing nad lingering of lips.
he comes back a little heavy eyed, sleepy, and squeezes him to his side a little closer. ]
You can go if you want. While I sleep.
[ because he does want sleep, he does want to heal and rest and soak up as much of this energy as he can. he traces patterns on koby’s back, closing his eyes, his cheek pressed to the man’s forehead. ]
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[Tipping his chin upwards, Koby watches Quentin's eyes slip closed, hears that soft, weary note in his voice. What would it mean if he started counting each restful night he was able to give this man? Would it need to mean anything more than a port in a storm, a place to batten down the hatches and ride out whatever comes? Would he want it to?]
I don't want to leave. [Softly, settling closer against Quentin, hand slipping over to find the steady pulse of his heart.] If I wake up before you this time, I'll just eat the rest of the jam, hm?
no subject
Then don't leave. Stay as long or as little as you wish to stay. But if you eat all the jam I'll have you know I'll have to find a way to it through you.
[ there's a teasing, tired lilt to his voice that is covered up by a yawn next. ] See how very much you taste of strawberries when I allow my mouth to do the chasing.
[ his words slur sleepily and he shifts to nudge a little bit closer to him, nose falling into the faint, pink hair. ]