[What a privilege it is, for Koby to give himself over like this. To let Fearless's hungry hands scan over scarred and unscarred skin, on a body abiding to Koby's own choice. Koby is one of Fearless's favorite types of people, the kind that takes the hand they are given and changes the cards, changes the game, changes themself. Every inch of Koby Fearless touches is reverent in the way only someone who's never seen the inside of a cathedral can be, the wonder-filled awe of someone seeing god without ever knowing one existed. Even with this body that Fearless has touched before, that he's memorized well enough to remember how his fingers trip over the ridges of ribs that match his own, he's still not bored of Koby.
Young as Fearless is and with Koby warm in his lap as he is, he's already stiffening under his pink-haired comrade's rear. He can't help it; even tasting Koby's skin like this, knowing that a bruise is blooming over the bone— the sensation all rushes through Fearless's gut, and he's not even the one being sucked on.
While he's preoccupied with that and while Koby's still so focused on his shirt, Fearless toys with Koby's belt buckle, undoing it by touch and memory instead of sight. He has so much of Koby to touch, after all, and he doesn't want to be patient about it.]
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Young as Fearless is and with Koby warm in his lap as he is, he's already stiffening under his pink-haired comrade's rear. He can't help it; even tasting Koby's skin like this, knowing that a bruise is blooming over the bone— the sensation all rushes through Fearless's gut, and he's not even the one being sucked on.
While he's preoccupied with that and while Koby's still so focused on his shirt, Fearless toys with Koby's belt buckle, undoing it by touch and memory instead of sight. He has so much of Koby to touch, after all, and he doesn't want to be patient about it.]