[There's an absurd, embarrassing urge to hide his face, to scrunch away from the grinning fondness of Fearless's grin, from the way it sends flutters up and down Koby's spine, makes his breath stutter, knees squeezing in a little. He doesn't want to be so predictable, wants to maintain some air of mystery. Of control.
But he can't, he's not built that way, he wears every emotion across his face like a neon sign, and right that second it shows how much he means it, how much he genuinely enjoys and wants Fearless’s presence, his attention, his affection. How Koby wants all of it and all the rest, wants to chatter about his day settled against this man’s shoulder, his and nobody else’s, wants to feel those callused, roughened fingers toying with his hair as he waves his own in some aimless, unimportant story.
That’s there, as easy to see as the heat, the lust, the desire that flares up every time Fearless touches him. It’s unlike any other crush, any other fixation Koby’s ever had. It’s bigger, brighter, harder to bear, physical shot through with something raw and real and obvious. Still, he doesn’t say anything, just rolls his eyes, huffs out a sigh, tilts his head to one side to make it easier for Fearless to tease at his slowly-revealing skin.]
I couldn’t make you stop talking, even if I wanted to. Because you do things only when you want to and that’s that. [There’s a tremor, a pitching lilt in Koby’s voice as he feels the hot, warm pressure of Fearless’s mouth, his teeth, and yes, marking’s a bad idea, a terrible one, because if someone sees, people will talk and he could end up transferred or Fearless could end up caught or or or–
But it feels good, feeds that building heat, that hunger, that throb of desire that Koby knows is just making him redder and redder, easy to see as there’s nothing on beneath the uniform shirt – layers aren’t necessary on a environmentally-regimented ship like this. He undoes more and more buttons, fabric parting, framing the shudder of his still-too-visible ribs, his stomach, the scars bisecting his chest. It makes him blush even more, but he has to gulp out, has to say it aloud, has to make an almost-plea:] D-Don’t stop.
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But he can't, he's not built that way, he wears every emotion across his face like a neon sign, and right that second it shows how much he means it, how much he genuinely enjoys and wants Fearless’s presence, his attention, his affection. How Koby wants all of it and all the rest, wants to chatter about his day settled against this man’s shoulder, his and nobody else’s, wants to feel those callused, roughened fingers toying with his hair as he waves his own in some aimless, unimportant story.
That’s there, as easy to see as the heat, the lust, the desire that flares up every time Fearless touches him. It’s unlike any other crush, any other fixation Koby’s ever had. It’s bigger, brighter, harder to bear, physical shot through with something raw and real and obvious. Still, he doesn’t say anything, just rolls his eyes, huffs out a sigh, tilts his head to one side to make it easier for Fearless to tease at his slowly-revealing skin.]
I couldn’t make you stop talking, even if I wanted to. Because you do things only when you want to and that’s that. [There’s a tremor, a pitching lilt in Koby’s voice as he feels the hot, warm pressure of Fearless’s mouth, his teeth, and yes, marking’s a bad idea, a terrible one, because if someone sees, people will talk and he could end up transferred or Fearless could end up caught or or or–
But it feels good, feeds that building heat, that hunger, that throb of desire that Koby knows is just making him redder and redder, easy to see as there’s nothing on beneath the uniform shirt – layers aren’t necessary on a environmentally-regimented ship like this. He undoes more and more buttons, fabric parting, framing the shudder of his still-too-visible ribs, his stomach, the scars bisecting his chest. It makes him blush even more, but he has to gulp out, has to say it aloud, has to make an almost-plea:] D-Don’t stop.