kobes | inbox for saltburnt

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?

[His eyes flick up to Koby's.]

May I touch them?

[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.

[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.

Utterly impossible.

[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.

[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.

[He smiles.]

No pants need be involved.

[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.

then, patting the blankets:] Come along, then.

[Oh the things Lincoln has slept through.

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?

[Harry presses kisses to Koby's neck and laughs softly.] You won't die.

[It feels good to be able to say that and actually believe it.

Harry's hand stays between those spreading thighs and instead of hurrying it actually slows. Unerringly his thumb finds Koby's clit and circles.]

And patience is a virtue.

[Not that he has much of it himself at the moment. He pays further attention to Koby's neck with lips and tongue, sucking lightly at the skin below the point of his jaw. His thumb presses a little harder before he takes his hand away entirely.]

Lay back against the pillows, Koby. Take those off.

[the murmured words into the heated crook of his neck, accompanied with the slow, maddening circle of harry's fingers against his clit, pressing the soaked fabric against the throb of heated pleasure in a way that has koby whimpering -- they're both unbearable, and koby wants to complain, to whine, to say he's been patient, because he's been soaked since he came in here, but he's being given commands and he can -- he can do them. he has to, because despite harry's expert medical opinion, koby genuinely feels like he's going to die or explode or something.

so he scoots back against the pillows, red-cheeked and bright-eyed and eager, hands shaky with excitement, clumsy with nerves, because it's still thrilling, every time, every person, every experience. the sweet, submissive act slips a little, in favor of a genuinely eager, excited grin, a wrinkle of koby's freckled nose as he hooks his fingers in the elastic of his underwear and peels them down, off, away. he's dripping wet, flushed and slick in a way that he'd be embarrassed about if he wasn't so impatient.

swallowing hard, scooting back against the pillows, koby fidgets for a moment, unsure what to do with his hands, knees instinctively pressing together on a quick inhale.] You don't -- I mean, o-only if you, um. Want to? Some people don't. I mean. [he's blushing deeper, thighs slick where they finally spread, part, inviting.] If you want to, that's -- I want to, too.

[The power game is fun - it's not often Harry gets to feel like an authority on anything - but that glimpse of a genuinely happy Koby is what opens his heart completely. The scrunch of his nose, the light in his eyes, these are the things Harry suspects he'll remember best.

He moves up the bed, waiting patiently as Koby settles. His own cheeks are pink, but his gaze doesn't dart away when Koby's legs open. He moves again, putting his hands firmly on Koby's thighs.]

In some circles, there is a theory than one can induce a great sense of euphoria by causing bodily paroxysms. Allow me to demonstrate.

[Harry moves to lay on his belly between Koby's legs. He places a single kiss to the inside of one thigh before he licks up the length of Koby's cunt. His mouth seals over the hot flesh and he tongues Koby's clit with the same enthusiasm he'd kissed his mouth. He's not greatly experienced and his clumsiness betrays that, but he knows enough to keep his lips and tongue working relentlessly.]

[there's another stifled almost-laugh, and koby's already opening his mouth to say something about enough personal evidence to confirm that theory, but then -- but then harry's spreading out, holding his thighs and licking slowly up the flushed seam of his cunt and -- and it's good, every single time, a year of experience still not making that first electric sensation any less blissful.

koby makes a sound closer to a keen than anything else, and he suddenly knows exactly what to do with his hands, sliding one into the mess of harry's dark curls, something almost tender in how he rests a palm there, cradles the back of harry's head. a press forward when the clumsy, eager angle of harry's tongue is just right, encouragement undercut with the soft litany of words:] Y-Yes, there, right -- there, please--

[perhaps unsurprisingly, koby is noisy in bed, incurable yapper that he is, breathless words blurring together with the way he moans and whimpers and rocks up against harry's relentless mouth. it doesn't take very long until he's close, youthful enthusiasm working against him. thighs shivering, koby curls his toes against the bedspread, grips tighter at harry's hair and manages --] Almost, I'm -- almost there, I-I--

[Oh how he loves hands in his hair. That's another thing Harry has discovered about himself.

He takes direction well. If Koby tugs him over way or pulls him closer, Harry just applies himself in the exact place he's been led. He appears tireless in this activity at least.

When Koby warns him, he barely nods. Harry's lips close over the swollen flesh of Koby's clit and sucks. His gentle hands slip under the quivering thighs and hold, keeping Koby in place no matter how strongly his hips might buck.]

[the slight nod is all koby needs -- that and the sudden focused pressure of harry's mouth, the grip of his careful, firm hands, the unspoken permission, you can let go, you can fall apart, you're okay, you're safe. it's something koby feels as deeply as the pleasure that bursts apart low in his stomach, releases on a shuddery, gasping sound that comes from just as deep, something half harry's name, half wordless bliss. his hips buck up, against the firm grip, helpless and searching, hands tightening in harry's hair as he comes on his tongue -- and no doubt soaks his chin in the process.

panting, gulping for air, koby doesn't even give himself a moment to breathe, already tugging up at harry's dark curls, clumsily trying to pull him away from his oversensitive, flushed cunt, wanting to snuggle into his fluffy chest and let his heart rate decrease. mumbled, huffy:] C'mere, up -- up here.

inbox for saltburnt

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cw: unsafe top surgery, gore ig

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cw: old man attempts to understand trans issues

ur doing amazing sweetie <3 also cw: gore/more unsafe top surgery ig

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