I don't mind pirates. Anyway, I stole it first, I'm more of the pirate here.
That sounds like a challenge. Is it? I see. Well, that's all right, I need to do laundry anyway.
[Not that they do their own laundry, but it's an excuse to send a photo of the shirt unbuttoned, gaping open slightly in the front, revealing that Koby truly isn't wearing anything else. He's also blushing furiously, because sending pictures like this is very new for him, still.]
I can't imagine how THAT'D Jolly Roger would look. A closet and a bed, I guess? Or I'd just use a stolen shirt instead of a flag...
[It's -- kind of fun, actually, to Koby's surprise. He likes the playful, light, easy nature of it, an echo of the easy back-and-forth he's gotten used to with Quentin.]
I do. But I'd have to get up and put something else on and I don't want to. I already did. Twice, this morning.
Rope is useful to have on hand, just in case. Never know when you'll need to tie a knot.
[He actually probably means that in a completely innocent way, too.]
You're the wordsmith, not me. I can't paint a good picture just Tell you the truth. I woke up smelling like you and just Thought it'd be quick. It used to be quick. I didn't use to take so much time.
you're right - you never know when you'll need to tie knots.
you can paint a fine picture. try - for me? sometimes things taking their time isn't all that bad. did you imagine my mouth? my hands? or something else.
i can tell you what i imagined when i smelled your soap on my pillow.
Exactly, yes. What if there's a fire and we need to scale out a window? Better to have rope on hand.
Your hands. For starters. How warm they are, how they always know exactly where to touch when I'm half-asleep. You always take your time. Like you're unraveling me, bit by bit. It's new but it's It's nice.
[More than nice, it's addictive, it's consuming, and if Koby's acting out what he's writing, well. What of it?]
oh, my hands? i do enjoy unraveling you and all those sweet sounds you make. i imagined my hands on your thighs, getting my hands up under your shirt, running them slowly up your hips, your stomach, to your chest.
you know where they'd go next. and i was sad to find you weren't there, with your face in my neck, keeping that love mark nice and dark. don't think i didn't notice.
Your hands, doing just that, yes. The way you fit against my back, the way I can feel you waking up. The way your breathing changes, the way you pull me a little closer. I've thought about you not waiting for me to wake up before just Pushing my shirt up and getting back inside me. Maybe you never left in the first place.
Did you? You left a matching one, on my neck. I haven't bothered covering it up.
and here i was thinking of waking you the other morning with my head between your thighs having my breakfast in bed and savoring it until you woke and then having seconds
i like getting your shirt off of you though up to your chin and watching you squirm when you can't see me around the fabric cleaning up the mess i make on you after with it
oh? walking around with it on parade are you? well then.
Were you? That'd be I wouldn't mind it I mean, I'd like it.
I know. I had it in my mouth this morning, to keep it out of the way. Make sure nobody walking by heard me. They might've anyways, though. Maybe not the first time, but the second, when I stopped being careful.
noted. i'm certain i can find a time to surprise you. put your shirt in my mouth to keep it up sometime, perhaps. though i will be gravely disappointed if you try and hide the little noises you make what if i could have heard them down the hall? robbing me of sweet, sweet music.
why wouldn't it be? it's your body to tell the stories you want. i'm honored to make people wonder a little bit.
oh, really? like what? if was there, where would you have me put my mouth?
i'm sure i'll hear you i know the way you get when you're worked up but i don't mind do you tell people how you got them? how you keep ending up with more?
On mine, for starters. All the places you left marks, all the places you didn't. Lower. Take your time, like you always do.
[There's a pause before the next message, sheets kicked away, shirt left open, because Koby was serious about round three. The next photo is blurry, the unbuttoned shirt framing his marked-up chest, his stomach, his hips, hand slipping down, just out of frame, between his legs.] Can you hear me right now?
Some people. People I trust. It's not that I'm embarrassed, its just I only want to share it with people who deserve it.
[ the picture is infuriating - makes him impossibly hot beneath his skin and makes him slide a hand over his own aching need. so he sends a picture back - the broad palm low on his belly, over the rising black fabric of his pajama pants. ]
i don't hear you yet. take your hand and touch yourself - but you're not allowed to the little button you like so well? don't touch it. think about my tongue working you open tasting you working you up and loose
deserve it? and what makes them worthy? love bites must be serious business.
[That photo-- Koby very nearly just abandons his phone and goes striding purposefully down the hall, half-naked, to resolve that subtle rise of fabric himself.
But he's too intrigued by this new back and forth, written word, rather than spoken, like sending letters that arrive within seconds, instant gratification. So:]
Understood. But you can't touch yourself either. You always take care of me first, so if I'm imagining that, you wouldn't be using your hands anywhere but on me. Deal?
They'd need to be happy for me, I guess. Understand that it's Special. To me.
[ though it’s no complaint, considering a few moments later, it is indeed a nude picture. he’s wriggled out of his pajama pants, nothing beneath, and if koby looks closely he can see the flared tip of his cock resting on his belly, untouched. ]
it’s my turn for more pictures, isn’t it? and we’ll have to arrange training sessions lots of things to go over i need practice, too.
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but if defeat brings me such treasures then i certainly won’t complain.
i suppose i’ll have to stage an invasion.
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An invasion? Oh dear. That sounds serious.
Are you going to steal your shirts back?
[A beat, another photo.]
I like this one. I'll fight you for it.
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if you'd like to fight for it, who am i to deny you?
once i get my hands under it, of course, you'll be finished.
[ there's another picture - the bathtub they both shared some weeks ago, full to the brim with steaming water. ]
but i'm a little busy at the moment, i'm afraid.
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Anyway, I stole it first, I'm more of the pirate here.
That sounds like a challenge. Is it?
I see. Well, that's all right, I need to do laundry anyway.
[Not that they do their own laundry, but it's an excuse to send a photo of the shirt unbuttoned, gaping open slightly in the front, revealing that Koby truly isn't wearing anything else. He's also blushing furiously, because sending pictures like this is very new for him, still.]
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[ but there's the picture and he finds himself unable to look away, staring at the line of koby's body in the image.
he sends one back - this stomach sinking into the water, his knees peeking above the surface, fingers of one hand dipping into test the temperature. ]
does it smell like me still?
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[The sight of Quentin's soaked body is -- definitely one of Koby's favorite pictures he's ever sent.]
It does. Not as much as last night, but enough that I can almost pretend you're here.
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[ he's enjoying his bath and this little play back and forth. he'd not been too sold on the phones, really, until now. ]
you do realize my door is open and the bath is warm?
unless you wish to pretend him there. hands up your shirt, mouth on your shoulder.
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[It's -- kind of fun, actually, to Koby's surprise. He likes the playful, light, easy nature of it, an echo of the easy back-and-forth he's gotten used to with Quentin.]
I do. But I'd have to get up and put something else on and I don't want to.
I already did. Twice, this morning.
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[ oh yes, he knows too well what he's implying there.
but wait. ]
and what did you do when you pretended? paint me a picture.
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[He actually probably means that in a completely innocent way, too.]
You're the wordsmith, not me. I can't paint a good picture just
Tell you the truth. I woke up smelling like you and just
Thought it'd be quick. It used to be quick. I didn't use to take so much time.
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you can paint a fine picture. try - for me?
sometimes things taking their time isn't all that bad.
did you imagine my mouth? my hands?
or something else.
i can tell you what i imagined when i smelled your soap on my pillow.
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Your hands. For starters. How warm they are, how they always know exactly where to touch when I'm half-asleep.
You always take your time. Like you're unraveling me, bit by bit. It's new but it's
It's nice.
[More than nice, it's addictive, it's consuming, and if Koby's acting out what he's writing, well. What of it?]
Yes. Tell me.
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i imagined my hands on your thighs, getting my hands up under your shirt, running them slowly up your hips, your stomach, to your chest.
you know where they'd go next. and i was sad to find you weren't there, with your face in my neck, keeping that love mark nice and dark.
don't think i didn't notice.
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I've thought about you not waiting for me to wake up before just
Pushing my shirt up and getting back inside me.
Maybe you never left in the first place.
Did you? You left a matching one, on my neck.
I haven't bothered covering it up.
I don't mind it.
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having my breakfast in bed and savoring it until you woke
and then having seconds
i like getting your shirt off of you though
up to your chin and watching you squirm when you can't see me around the fabric
cleaning up the mess i make on you after with it
oh? walking around with it on parade are you?
well then.
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I wouldn't mind it
I mean, I'd like it.
I know. I had it in my mouth this morning, to keep it out of the way.
Make sure nobody walking by heard me.
They might've anyways, though.
Maybe not the first time, but the second, when I stopped being careful.
A bit, maybe.
Is that okay?
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i'm certain i can find a time to surprise you.
put your shirt in my mouth to keep it up sometime, perhaps.
though i will be gravely disappointed if you try and hide the little noises you make
what if i could have heard them down the hall? robbing me of sweet, sweet music.
why wouldn't it be? it's your body to tell the stories you want.
i'm honored to make people wonder a little bit.
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[Pause while Koby screams into his pillow at himself, it's fine, it's a canon event, he's new to sexting.]
All the way down the hall?
I could go for round three, I guess. Since you're preoccupied. See if you can hear me.
Really? You don't mind it?
I mean, I don't mind it either.
I like it. A lot.
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if was there, where would you have me put my mouth?
i'm sure i'll hear you
i know the way you get when you're worked up
but i don't mind
do you tell people how you got them?
how you keep ending up with more?
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Lower. Take your time, like you always do.
[There's a pause before the next message, sheets kicked away, shirt left open, because Koby was serious about round three. The next photo is blurry, the unbuttoned shirt framing his marked-up chest, his stomach, his hips, hand slipping down, just out of frame, between his legs.]
Can you hear me right now?
Some people. People I trust.
It's not that I'm embarrassed, its just
I only want to share it with people who deserve it.
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i don't hear you yet.
take your hand and touch yourself - but you're not allowed to
the little button you like so well? don't touch it.
think about my tongue working you open
tasting you
working you up and loose
deserve it? and what makes them worthy?
love bites must be serious business.
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But he's too intrigued by this new back and forth, written word, rather than spoken, like sending letters that arrive within seconds, instant gratification. So:]
Understood.
But you can't touch yourself either.
You always take care of me first, so if I'm imagining that, you wouldn't be using your hands anywhere but on me.
Deal?
They'd need to be happy for me, I guess.
Understand that it's
Special. To me.
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very well then, hands off
i’ll imagine what i’d be doing to you
i can almost taste you on the back of my tongue
[ he almost wants to ask more lewd questions, press on and on and get koby wailing a few doors down. but the next message takes him by surprise. ]
special?
well then. i’ll have to make it my priority that you don’t ever go without those marks
and i expect you to repay it in kind.
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But I need proof you're obeying, of course.
[nudes plz~
Though he does pause a moment before replying.]
Yeah. Special.
Deal. I'll take it as a solemn challenge.
I might need a lot of practice, though.
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[ though it’s no complaint, considering a few moments later, it is indeed a nude picture. he’s wriggled out of his pajama pants, nothing beneath, and if koby looks closely he can see the flared tip of his cock resting on his belly, untouched. ]
it’s my turn for more pictures, isn’t it?
and we’ll have to arrange training sessions
lots of things to go over
i need practice, too.
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