[lincoln pokes her sleek little head over the edge of the table, giving goodsir a very waterfowl-esque look of approval at the mention of napping on books – and, her lettuce done, hops down from the chair and begins waddling around, examining the surroundings. she seems mostly to be a normal duck, but periodically the light hits her feathers or eyes in a way that makes them appear – serpentine, almost, gleaming like scales.
koby watches with open fondness, reaching out his socked foot to stroke along her back when she gets close enough (an act lincoln pauses for, fluffing up in enjoyment), then smiles up at goodsir, more warmly.] So am I. Any ease I may have is all an act, I promise. At my core I’m nothing but teeming anxiety, so…consider the playing field level.
[then, as lincoln toddles over to examine goodsir’s feet instead:] I don’t regret them either. They were very, ah…enlightening. [another sip of tea.] As I might’ve mentioned, I’ve never really, um. Engaged in that sort of…scenario. [siiiip.] I wasn’t sure how I’d react.
But it was nice. It – felt nice. [blushing deeper now, setting the tea cup down on the table.] I agree in mutual clear minds, though, in case…just in case. The last thing I want is to have any time with you be upsetting, Harry, on either side.
...or for either of us to drown. [koby huffs out a laugh as lincoln settles down, her chin on goodsir’s foot.] That’d be a very embarrassing way for two sailors to go.
[pleased, koby turns completely towards goodsir, sitting almost at attention, a clearly military-influenced posture, slipping into the role smoothly, now that he's had time to think it over, turn it around in his head. being commanded, being told what to do feels -- strange, toeing around territory that he usually keeps shut firmly away in his mind. but there's a safety in it being another sailor, someone older, someone koby can easily place his trust in. it's more like following a command from an officer, and that isn't scary at all.]
You did indeed, sir. [it slips out smoothly, brightly.] And I'll have you know I followed your orders to the letter. I'm afraid all I have is my word, but -- but I assure you it's honest. I'm a man of my word, after all.
[from beneath goodsir's gentle petting, lincoln lifts her head, looking between the two, then standing and waddling off to find a book to sit on. she's well-practiced in the art of making herself scarce whenever her human companion is occupied.]
[The secret here is that Goodsir has no idea what the hell he's doing.
He's had the most mind blowing sex of his life only recently, after a long period of not just celibacy but erectile dysfunction. Prior to that he was hardly what anyone would call experienced. And now he's sitting here with this beautiful young man about to act like he's in charge?
And their chaperone is waddling away?!
Well.
Sure, the drink had prompted his behaviour in Otherworld, but it wasn't as if it had handed him a script. He pulled it off once, why not again?
Harry leans forward a bit, hands clasped between his knees.]
I believe you, Koby. You are very trustworthy, which is why I feel I can task you with such things.
But now you must tell me - did you continue to have those sorts of thoughts? Have you had them since?
And if so, which scenario is foremost in your mind?
[is koby aware of that? to some extent -- he can feel the gentle undercurrent of awkwardness, laced with desire and self-consciousness, that runs through goodsir's warm, welcoming aura, the same way he can tell there are darker, hidden places in his mind and soul. it's all ambient, noise in the back of koby's mind, things he remains aware of, but doesn't focus too intently upon.
still, there's a knowing sort of look on his pink-cheeked face as he mirrors the posture, leaning forward, hands clasped on his knee, overalls and earnestness and innocence radiating like a corona of sunlight around him. it's carefully schooled away, because they're slipping back into this game, this persona, where koby is the wide-eyed, unknowing subordinate. it's part of what he liked so much, had thought about since the other night.]
I'm afraid so. I'm having them right now. [soft, a little shy, even as his gaze drags slow and careful and lingering over goodsir's frame, lingers on his broad shoulders, his chest, lower.] Foremost is definitely, ah -- relieving you of some of your layers. For comfort, of course. It gets so warm here in the midday, when the sun comes in through the windows.
[tilting his head, sweet, earnest:] Don't you agree?
Oh, of course. [polite, solicitous, standing immediately and carefully pushing his chair back in, because it's all about manners for koby, always. he maintains that earnest sweetness as he steps closer, "hmm"ing softly at the buttons like they're a particularly tricky puzzle he needs to solve.]
Let's see, I think...to best assist... [it's soft, mostly to himself, arms crossing and chin propped in one hand before giving a decided sort of nod and -- sliding into harry's lap, in one smooth, practiced motion, straddling his legs, expression remaining as innocent and guileless as ever. a pleased nod, and koby starts carefully undoing the buttons, knees on either side of goodsir's hips, shifting and squirming a bit to get comfortable.]
There. This is so much more efficient, don't you think? [the innocence slips a little, and koby's expression goes smug, both eyebrows quirked as he slowly undoes each button.]
[A lap full of Koby is, Harry decides, one of life's great pleasures. He loops his arms around Koby's waist and watches him work with an expression of bemused interest.
Waistcoat open, he nods as if he's just reviewed an impressive piece of work, then catches Koby's eye.]
Very efficient.
The shirt, I think, may also require attention. And I am quite concerned about your own. After all, I can't have you overheating. You could be injured.
[koby maintains his intently focused expression, teeth notched into his lower lip as if undoing the four or five buttons is taking every scrap of his attention, then resting his palms flat against harry’s chest, feeling the contour of his body, the rise and fall of still-underfed ribs, the steady beat of his heart. he smiles, brightly.] Thank you. I think it’s some of my finest waistcoat-divestion work.
[there’s a bit of a flicker in koby’s expression at the prompt, a momentary tension in his shoulders before he breathes in, out, slowly, lets them relax again.] I would never presume to argue with a doctor’s recommendation, but...well. There are some things I'd like to make clear.
[a moment of hesitation, then he’s unstrapping the overalls again, letting them fall off his shoulders, then carefully pulling his shirt off over his head. months of using saltburnt’s (impressive) gym facilities means that koby’s gained a good amount of muscle in his chest, his arms, his stomach, the line of his back, but the jagged scars beneath each pectoral are still vividly obvious, shiny and pink. whatever surgery caused them was inexpert – the scar tissue is gnarled, irregular, speaking of haphazard knife work and insufficient recovery, as if the stitches had been torn open again and again and again.
there’s significantly less anxiety in koby’s body language than there would’ve been even a few months before – he doesn’t anticipate goodsir will be anything but curious or, perhaps, bewildered about the scars, can’t imagine him being disgusted or cruel. and if he is – well. then koby misjudged him, that’s all. but he doesn't think he has, so he waits patiently, hands still resting on goodsir's broad chest, awaiting his reaction.]
[If you want to completely fascinate an anatomist, show him a scar.
The warmth doesn't leave his eyes, but the hazy arousal is replaced with a piercing curiosity that is just shy of being delighted. The playacting of doctor is forgotten in the reality of actual medical inspection.
Harry places gentle hands on Koby's upper abdominals, safely below the scars.]
Koby... these are quite serious. Are they self inflicted, my dear?
[there's a soft exhale, a breath koby hadn't realized he'd been holding. his shoulders bow in a little, relaxed, a touch shy now. the broad warmth of harry's hands is soothing, calming -- he doesn't flinch, doesn't shy away from the once-gnarled wounds.]
In a manner of speaking. I mean -- I paid for them. I used to use bandages instead, but it got too hard to breathe while doing my chores, so. I bribed a surgeon in a port. [the words make him wince, even now, remembering knives and the scent of rum and his teeth clamped into a belt so he wouldn't scream.] More of a butcher, really. It was the best I could afford.
[a pause, then koby nods, squaring his shoulders back so it's easier to see -- he recognizes that glint of curiosity in harry's eyes, finds it endearing, actually. it's the same reaction he'd have.] You can touch. I can't really feel much on the scars themselves.
[Harry has a very gentle touch. It's something that he's always been proud of, professionally.
He winces at the very idea of poor Koby under the knife of some portside butcher. His fingers probe softly at the scar tissue, noting the thickness with a soft hum.
It's only as he absorbs Koby's words further that he really truly realises what sort of surgery Koby had done.
He looks at Koby's face with a dawning understanding, but also a deep sympathy. He massages the scar tissue without thinking.]
Oh, my dear. This must have hurt terribly. You are very strong.
So. You were... ah. Born... But you're now...
[He leans forward and kisses Koby's forehead softly.]
I cannot claim to understand. But I don't mind.
ur doing amazing sweetie <3 also cw: gore/more unsafe top surgery ig
[the softness – of the words, of the touch – disarms koby’s carefully-planned explanation, and he falters for a beat, voice catching in his throat as harry leans in, kisses his forehead.
then, soft, voice quavering like the child he’d been when the scars were left on him:] Yes. It hurt a lot. [it was excruciating, it was like being flayed alive, there on the grimy table and every day after, as his endless chores tore the stitches again and again, no time allowed to rest or recover, not when there were sails to mend and decks to swap. koby wonders if harry can read the story in the gnarled scar tissue, the long horizontal lines with irregular vertical notches where the stitches had been.
swallowing tightly, koby manages a small smile, looks back up through the round lenses of his glasses and nods.] I grew up in a – girl’s orphanage, on an island. But I could, um. Tell from very early that something wasn’t right, it didn’t – it all felt terrible. And then I left and started calling myself Koby and cut off all my hair and things started to feel better.
[a bit more shyly:] I’m glad you don’t mind. I wasn’t sure, um, what your…preferences were?
[Another soft kiss, this time to Koby's lips. The scars tell their story very well indeed - the damage was done, obvious to anyone who knows anything about the way a wound is supposed to heal.] Yes. Yet here you are. My dear, strong one.
[Fingers still massaging (and did anyone tell this bright young boy that doing such could have helped with the scar tissue? of course not) Harry smiles in return.]
Yes, apparently my tastes are a bit of a mystery to people. Although to be fair, I've not enough experience to definitively give many answers.
[Slowly, as if Koby might startle, he leans forward and kisses his neck. When he speaks again it is against the smooth skin there.]
I am aware of the... the details? Of either set of, ah. Genitals. I am an anatomist. [Another series of slow, gentle kisses as he moves down Koby's neck.]
Only you must tell me if I do or say something foolish, or distasteful to you. To my knowledge I've not met a young man like you before. Although who can say, really? Perhaps I've known dozens without recognising it.
Here I am. [it's a bit wondering, said on a laugh as harry presses in, kisses at the side of koby's neck, followed by a soft sigh. there's a chain there, around his throat, a silvery collection of links, resting over a still-healing bite mark that he seems to wear as a badge of honor, where his neck and shoulder meet. still, he tilts his head invitingly, humming softly at the odd sensation of mixed numbness and sensitivity where those skilled anatomist's hands massage at his chest.] And here you are. Sort of impossible all around, isn't it?
[the word "details" gets a snort, an undignified thing, even as koby's reaching to push his glasses up into his hair, eyes brighter, bemused, without the thick, round lenses covering them.] I'd expect nothing lest from an anatomist, of course. I don't mind what -- words you use, really. Nothing's foolish to me.
[then, hands slipping back to the buttons of harry's shirt:] I tend to use "cock" only when I'm wearing one, though. I'm not, today, because -- well, it's sparkly and purple. It tends to be a little distracting, especially on first sight. [koby plucks the buttons free, one by one, taking his time as with the waistcoat.] And you might have. There are medicines people can take, ways they can...replace what their bodies can't make on their own. I've read books about it, it's all very fascinating.
[Harry chuckles in the endearingly awkward way he has, knowing that sometimes he just sounds a little ridiculous. He watches with interest as Koby opens his shirt.
He lifts his gaze to Koby's face.]
Sparkly. That will be quite new to me.
Are there? I should like to read them. Do such medicines exist here? Should you want them.
[He drags his fingers down Koby's chest and belly before ducking in to kiss Koby's neck again. The bite is noted and wondered at a little.]
[it is endearing, a sort of softness that koby feels oddly protective over, though harry is fully twice his age. it makes him smile, hands coming up from the unbuttoned shirt to cradle either (fluffy) side of the man's face, beaming in that bright, earnest way he still has, even after all this time.] One of them is, at least. You should ask Tim about it. [a quirked eyebrow, a thread of the wickedness that had gotten such a sweet-faced young man nominated for such scandalous things during prom.
harry's hands slip lower, tracing over the contour of muscle, more defined than the overalls and sweatervests would suggest. koby wakes early, pushes himself, training the slender slip of a body he's been given into something he's happy to exist within. the fear and shame is mostly gone, burned away with the searing heat of how good every bit of him can feel.
shifting his hips, legs spreading wider, koby leans in, words soft and heated against harry's mouth:] Am I? Then you should probably give me my reward now, hm? [the muscle in his stomach, his waist goes tense, flexing as he slowly rocks his hips again, more deliberate this time.] Or do I need to say please?
[The fluffiness continues; with his shirt open it is possible to see that Harry's chest has a carpet of dark hair. It feathers down his torso before thickening again below his navel. His own body is nowhere near as strong as Koby's, being slim but soft. Harry is self conscious about it, keenly aware that the young men he (inexplicably) attracts are well muscled.]
You should always say please. It's polite.
[Harry captures Koby's mouth with his own, tongue pressing gently past his lips. His hands seek Koby's hips and settle, tugging lightly to encourage that rocking.]
[greedily, koby's hands are reaching out, callused fingertips and palms, a sailor's hands, tracing over the fluffy shape of harry's chest with a visibly pleased expression. he's not hairless himself -- it's under his arms, trailing down his stomach, but it's all baby pink and easily missed. there's something about harry's, the shape of his shoulders, his chest, beneath that dark carpet that koby finds he likes.
hands pressed to harry's body, eagerly, impatiently, unflinching at how his illness has depleted him, koby kisses him hard, just as hungry, hips rolling with youthful neediness.] Please? [another kiss, longer, open-mouthed, messy.] Please, Harry?
[There is something about sloppy making out that Harry has discovered he really, really likes. It surprises him - after the years he'd spent nearly on top of other men, all of them filthy, he'd assumed he would crave cleanliness to the point of being aseptic. But no. He wants spit and sweat and come. He kisses Koby back fervently, hands slipping to grip Koby's ass. He manages to nod, pulling away only to smile.]
Yes. Yes, you deserve your reward.
[His soft voice lowers a little more, barely above a whisper.]
Tell me the thing you fantasized about the most when you were being ever so good for me.
[there’s a huffy, thoughtful little sound as koby settles into harry’s lap, rocks his hips between grinding against the front of his pants and arching back into the hands on his ass, arms sliding around the man’s neck, languid and thoughtful as he tilts his head and bites his kiss-swollen lower lip.]
The most…it’s tricky, because there were so many things. [faux innocence, turned obvious lie by the way koby grins and toys with the curls at the nape of harry’s neck, fingers callused and affectionate.] And most of them just – led one right into another. Kissing you, touching you, getting on my knees for you. Sitting in your lap, like this.
[a pause, a glance downward, and koby frowns seriously.] With less pants on. There were no pants, in fact.
[Harry has no idea what a 'brat' is, but considering the company he's keeping lately he's going to have to figure out how to tame them in short order.
He likes Koby's fingers in his hair, likes his solid warmth there on his lap. Likes that cheeky little smile even more, and so he laughs softly.]
No pants. I see.
[He lets go of Koby's ass just so he can catch one of his hands and bring it to his lips. Gently, he kisses the back of Koby's hand.] Perhaps... retiring to the bed would be a good idea? If you like, you may relax and I can... Well. Take care of you. After all, it is you who should be rewarded for good behaviour.
[some achieve brattaming, some are born with it and some have it thrust upon them. koby is by far the sweetest sort of brat, tamed fairly easily by promises of attention to be lavished upon him -- he smiles immediately, fluttering his fingers, then squeezing harry's hand before ducking in to kiss him quick and firm and affectionate.]
Perhaps it would. [cheerfully; that settles that, clearly. koby slides off harry's lap, settling his glasses on the table, safely, besides lincoln, who's settled down into a frisky-business nap -- a common state for her. the unbuckled overalls drag behind him, and koby pauses for a moment to push them off over his hips, back facing harry for the moment.
he's still muscled, still lean and strong, from the dip of his waist to the backs of his thighs, to the simple, utilitarian underwear he has on, already visibly soaked through. koby straightens up, pauses, looking over his shoulder for a moment, before leaving that last bit of clothing where it is and climbing up onto the bed, settling sitting on his heels.
Harry watches Koby with a loving eye, noting the way his buttocks move beneath his underwear, the way his calves flex and relax. He's beautiful. The soaking underpants he notes with an almost uncomfortable pulse of desire as he stands and follows.
Undressing is difficult for Harry. He forces himself to do it, but he cannot hide that he's shy - on ship he'd had his own berth so he was spared being seen unclothed, and prior to his experiences here in the manor his intimate experiences hadn't required anything besides pulling trousers down just enough to get his dick out. Compounding the issue is the fact that Koby is just young and hot.
Still, Harry gets out of his clothes and onto the bed. His skin is pale, black hair thick at his chest and groin. His cock is only a little stiff, average length and uncut. Trying to recapture that sense of authority, Harry sits so that he can take Koby's face in his hands and kiss him like they did before. Wet, urgent, hot.
After a moment his anxiety fades - banished by Koby's tongue, perhaps - and he's running his hands over Koby's chest and belly and thighs. His fingers finally slip between Koby's legs, stroking curiously.]
[the unease is tangible -- not pervasive, but a thin thread that runs through the teeming tapestry of Harry's emotions, woven between his desire and curiosity and awe. koby can feel it, can feel how it eases when he eagerly moves forward, hands seeking out the contour of harry's body again, meeting anxiety with youthful enthusiasm.
this time koby kisses messier, open-mouthed and hungry, the thrill of heat at harry's tongue in his mouth going right down to pulse at the apex of his thighs. he sighs, soft, sweet, eagerly melting into the habds exploring his body, chasing goosebumps over his flushed skin.] You were -- right. This is a good idea...
[breathless, between kisses, spreading his thighs and rocking the soaked fabric clinging to every flushed fold into harry's hand:] But if you don't -- hurry up I'm going to die, I think. Please. [a shudder, a needy grind of his hips, encouraging that dominant, authoritative role, submitting to it without question.] Please, sir?
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no subject
koby watches with open fondness, reaching out his socked foot to stroke along her back when she gets close enough (an act lincoln pauses for, fluffing up in enjoyment), then smiles up at goodsir, more warmly.] So am I. Any ease I may have is all an act, I promise. At my core I’m nothing but teeming anxiety, so…consider the playing field level.
[then, as lincoln toddles over to examine goodsir’s feet instead:] I don’t regret them either. They were very, ah…enlightening. [another sip of tea.] As I might’ve mentioned, I’ve never really, um. Engaged in that sort of…scenario. [siiiip.] I wasn’t sure how I’d react.
But it was nice. It – felt nice. [blushing deeper now, setting the tea cup down on the table.] I agree in mutual clear minds, though, in case…just in case. The last thing I want is to have any time with you be upsetting, Harry, on either side.
...or for either of us to drown. [koby huffs out a laugh as lincoln settles down, her chin on goodsir’s foot.] That’d be a very embarrassing way for two sailors to go.
no subject
He looks to Koby and smiles more easily.]
Well, then we shall endeavour to at least maintain a similar level of anxiety.
[Harry lets Lincoln investigate, petting her with one foot as he'd seen Koby do. He nods, blushing fiercely.]
It felt nice for me, too.
[He laughs softly.] Indeed it would!
[He sets his tea aside and looks at Koby, eyes bright.]
I can't imagine any time spent with you would be upsetting, Koby. I find you, if you'll forgive me my frankness, incredibly charming.
...and I did promise you a reward.
no subject
You did indeed, sir. [it slips out smoothly, brightly.] And I'll have you know I followed your orders to the letter. I'm afraid all I have is my word, but -- but I assure you it's honest. I'm a man of my word, after all.
[from beneath goodsir's gentle petting, lincoln lifts her head, looking between the two, then standing and waddling off to find a book to sit on. she's well-practiced in the art of making herself scarce whenever her human companion is occupied.]
no subject
He's had the most mind blowing sex of his life only recently, after a long period of not just celibacy but erectile dysfunction. Prior to that he was hardly what anyone would call experienced. And now he's sitting here with this beautiful young man about to act like he's in charge?
And their chaperone is waddling away?!
Well.
Sure, the drink had prompted his behaviour in Otherworld, but it wasn't as if it had handed him a script. He pulled it off once, why not again?
Harry leans forward a bit, hands clasped between his knees.]
I believe you, Koby. You are very trustworthy, which is why I feel I can task you with such things.
But now you must tell me - did you continue to have those sorts of thoughts? Have you had them since?
And if so, which scenario is foremost in your mind?
no subject
still, there's a knowing sort of look on his pink-cheeked face as he mirrors the posture, leaning forward, hands clasped on his knee, overalls and earnestness and innocence radiating like a corona of sunlight around him. it's carefully schooled away, because they're slipping back into this game, this persona, where koby is the wide-eyed, unknowing subordinate. it's part of what he liked so much, had thought about since the other night.]
I'm afraid so. I'm having them right now. [soft, a little shy, even as his gaze drags slow and careful and lingering over goodsir's frame, lingers on his broad shoulders, his chest, lower.] Foremost is definitely, ah -- relieving you of some of your layers. For comfort, of course. It gets so warm here in the midday, when the sun comes in through the windows.
[tilting his head, sweet, earnest:] Don't you agree?
no subject
Harry nods.]
Terribly warm, yes.
I don't suppose you'd help me? The buttons on this waistcoat are quite stubborn.
[He sits back, allowing Koby full access.]
no subject
Let's see, I think...to best assist... [it's soft, mostly to himself, arms crossing and chin propped in one hand before giving a decided sort of nod and -- sliding into harry's lap, in one smooth, practiced motion, straddling his legs, expression remaining as innocent and guileless as ever. a pleased nod, and koby starts carefully undoing the buttons, knees on either side of goodsir's hips, shifting and squirming a bit to get comfortable.]
There. This is so much more efficient, don't you think? [the innocence slips a little, and koby's expression goes smug, both eyebrows quirked as he slowly undoes each button.]
no subject
Waistcoat open, he nods as if he's just reviewed an impressive piece of work, then catches Koby's eye.]
Very efficient.
The shirt, I think, may also require attention. And I am quite concerned about your own. After all, I can't have you overheating. You could be injured.
cw: unsafe top surgery, gore ig
[there’s a bit of a flicker in koby’s expression at the prompt, a momentary tension in his shoulders before he breathes in, out, slowly, lets them relax again.] I would never presume to argue with a doctor’s recommendation, but...well. There are some things I'd like to make clear.
[a moment of hesitation, then he’s unstrapping the overalls again, letting them fall off his shoulders, then carefully pulling his shirt off over his head. months of using saltburnt’s (impressive) gym facilities means that koby’s gained a good amount of muscle in his chest, his arms, his stomach, the line of his back, but the jagged scars beneath each pectoral are still vividly obvious, shiny and pink. whatever surgery caused them was inexpert – the scar tissue is gnarled, irregular, speaking of haphazard knife work and insufficient recovery, as if the stitches had been torn open again and again and again.
there’s significantly less anxiety in koby’s body language than there would’ve been even a few months before – he doesn’t anticipate goodsir will be anything but curious or, perhaps, bewildered about the scars, can’t imagine him being disgusted or cruel. and if he is – well. then koby misjudged him, that’s all. but he doesn't think he has, so he waits patiently, hands still resting on goodsir's broad chest, awaiting his reaction.]
no subject
The warmth doesn't leave his eyes, but the hazy arousal is replaced with a piercing curiosity that is just shy of being delighted. The playacting of doctor is forgotten in the reality of actual medical inspection.
Harry places gentle hands on Koby's upper abdominals, safely below the scars.]
Koby... these are quite serious. Are they self inflicted, my dear?
[His eyes flick up to Koby's.]
May I touch them?
no subject
In a manner of speaking. I mean -- I paid for them. I used to use bandages instead, but it got too hard to breathe while doing my chores, so. I bribed a surgeon in a port. [the words make him wince, even now, remembering knives and the scent of rum and his teeth clamped into a belt so he wouldn't scream.] More of a butcher, really. It was the best I could afford.
[a pause, then koby nods, squaring his shoulders back so it's easier to see -- he recognizes that glint of curiosity in harry's eyes, finds it endearing, actually. it's the same reaction he'd have.] You can touch. I can't really feel much on the scars themselves.
cw: old man attempts to understand trans issues
He winces at the very idea of poor Koby under the knife of some portside butcher. His fingers probe softly at the scar tissue, noting the thickness with a soft hum.
It's only as he absorbs Koby's words further that he really truly realises what sort of surgery Koby had done.
He looks at Koby's face with a dawning understanding, but also a deep sympathy. He massages the scar tissue without thinking.]
Oh, my dear. This must have hurt terribly. You are very strong.
So. You were... ah. Born... But you're now...
[He leans forward and kisses Koby's forehead softly.]
I cannot claim to understand. But I don't mind.
ur doing amazing sweetie <3 also cw: gore/more unsafe top surgery ig
then, soft, voice quavering like the child he’d been when the scars were left on him:] Yes. It hurt a lot. [it was excruciating, it was like being flayed alive, there on the grimy table and every day after, as his endless chores tore the stitches again and again, no time allowed to rest or recover, not when there were sails to mend and decks to swap. koby wonders if harry can read the story in the gnarled scar tissue, the long horizontal lines with irregular vertical notches where the stitches had been.
swallowing tightly, koby manages a small smile, looks back up through the round lenses of his glasses and nods.] I grew up in a – girl’s orphanage, on an island. But I could, um. Tell from very early that something wasn’t right, it didn’t – it all felt terrible. And then I left and started calling myself Koby and cut off all my hair and things started to feel better.
[a bit more shyly:] I’m glad you don’t mind. I wasn’t sure, um, what your…preferences were?
no subject
[Fingers still massaging (and did anyone tell this bright young boy that doing such could have helped with the scar tissue? of course not) Harry smiles in return.]
Yes, apparently my tastes are a bit of a mystery to people. Although to be fair, I've not enough experience to definitively give many answers.
[Slowly, as if Koby might startle, he leans forward and kisses his neck. When he speaks again it is against the smooth skin there.]
I am aware of the... the details? Of either set of, ah. Genitals. I am an anatomist. [Another series of slow, gentle kisses as he moves down Koby's neck.]
Only you must tell me if I do or say something foolish, or distasteful to you. To my knowledge I've not met a young man like you before. Although who can say, really? Perhaps I've known dozens without recognising it.
no subject
[the word "details" gets a snort, an undignified thing, even as koby's reaching to push his glasses up into his hair, eyes brighter, bemused, without the thick, round lenses covering them.] I'd expect nothing lest from an anatomist, of course. I don't mind what -- words you use, really. Nothing's foolish to me.
[then, hands slipping back to the buttons of harry's shirt:] I tend to use "cock" only when I'm wearing one, though. I'm not, today, because -- well, it's sparkly and purple. It tends to be a little distracting, especially on first sight. [koby plucks the buttons free, one by one, taking his time as with the waistcoat.] And you might have. There are medicines people can take, ways they can...replace what their bodies can't make on their own. I've read books about it, it's all very fascinating.
no subject
[Harry chuckles in the endearingly awkward way he has, knowing that sometimes he just sounds a little ridiculous. He watches with interest as Koby opens his shirt.
He lifts his gaze to Koby's face.]
Sparkly. That will be quite new to me.
Are there? I should like to read them. Do such medicines exist here? Should you want them.
[He drags his fingers down Koby's chest and belly before ducking in to kiss Koby's neck again. The bite is noted and wondered at a little.]
You are so incredibly lovely, Koby.
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harry's hands slip lower, tracing over the contour of muscle, more defined than the overalls and sweatervests would suggest. koby wakes early, pushes himself, training the slender slip of a body he's been given into something he's happy to exist within. the fear and shame is mostly gone, burned away with the searing heat of how good every bit of him can feel.
shifting his hips, legs spreading wider, koby leans in, words soft and heated against harry's mouth:] Am I? Then you should probably give me my reward now, hm? [the muscle in his stomach, his waist goes tense, flexing as he slowly rocks his hips again, more deliberate this time.] Or do I need to say please?
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You should always say please. It's polite.
[Harry captures Koby's mouth with his own, tongue pressing gently past his lips. His hands seek Koby's hips and settle, tugging lightly to encourage that rocking.]
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hands pressed to harry's body, eagerly, impatiently, unflinching at how his illness has depleted him, koby kisses him hard, just as hungry, hips rolling with youthful neediness.] Please? [another kiss, longer, open-mouthed, messy.] Please, Harry?
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Yes. Yes, you deserve your reward.
[His soft voice lowers a little more, barely above a whisper.]
Tell me the thing you fantasized about the most when you were being ever so good for me.
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The most…it’s tricky, because there were so many things. [faux innocence, turned obvious lie by the way koby grins and toys with the curls at the nape of harry’s neck, fingers callused and affectionate.] And most of them just – led one right into another. Kissing you, touching you, getting on my knees for you. Sitting in your lap, like this.
[a pause, a glance downward, and koby frowns seriously.] With less pants on. There were no pants, in fact.
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He likes Koby's fingers in his hair, likes his solid warmth there on his lap. Likes that cheeky little smile even more, and so he laughs softly.]
No pants. I see.
[He lets go of Koby's ass just so he can catch one of his hands and bring it to his lips. Gently, he kisses the back of Koby's hand.] Perhaps... retiring to the bed would be a good idea? If you like, you may relax and I can... Well. Take care of you. After all, it is you who should be rewarded for good behaviour.
[He smiles.]
No pants need be involved.
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Perhaps it would. [cheerfully; that settles that, clearly. koby slides off harry's lap, settling his glasses on the table, safely, besides lincoln, who's settled down into a frisky-business nap -- a common state for her. the unbuckled overalls drag behind him, and koby pauses for a moment to push them off over his hips, back facing harry for the moment.
he's still muscled, still lean and strong, from the dip of his waist to the backs of his thighs, to the simple, utilitarian underwear he has on, already visibly soaked through. koby straightens up, pauses, looking over his shoulder for a moment, before leaving that last bit of clothing where it is and climbing up onto the bed, settling sitting on his heels.
then, patting the blankets:] Come along, then.
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Harry watches Koby with a loving eye, noting the way his buttocks move beneath his underwear, the way his calves flex and relax. He's beautiful. The soaking underpants he notes with an almost uncomfortable pulse of desire as he stands and follows.
Undressing is difficult for Harry. He forces himself to do it, but he cannot hide that he's shy - on ship he'd had his own berth so he was spared being seen unclothed, and prior to his experiences here in the manor his intimate experiences hadn't required anything besides pulling trousers down just enough to get his dick out. Compounding the issue is the fact that Koby is just young and hot.
Still, Harry gets out of his clothes and onto the bed. His skin is pale, black hair thick at his chest and groin. His cock is only a little stiff, average length and uncut. Trying to recapture that sense of authority, Harry sits so that he can take Koby's face in his hands and kiss him like they did before. Wet, urgent, hot.
After a moment his anxiety fades - banished by Koby's tongue, perhaps - and he's running his hands over Koby's chest and belly and thighs. His fingers finally slip between Koby's legs, stroking curiously.]
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this time koby kisses messier, open-mouthed and hungry, the thrill of heat at harry's tongue in his mouth going right down to pulse at the apex of his thighs. he sighs, soft, sweet, eagerly melting into the habds exploring his body, chasing goosebumps over his flushed skin.] You were -- right. This is a good idea...
[breathless, between kisses, spreading his thighs and rocking the soaked fabric clinging to every flushed fold into harry's hand:] But if you don't -- hurry up I'm going to die, I think. Please. [a shudder, a needy grind of his hips, encouraging that dominant, authoritative role, submitting to it without question.] Please, sir?
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