[It's everything, to make someone talk to him like this. Warm and sweet and like he belongs in the room, even though they both know damn well he doesn't. Fearless rests his hands on Koby's waist now that he's closer, tips his forehead toward Koby's.]
Ah, yeah, pep-talk's the only thing that's gonna do it for me.
[He could take. He knows he could. But he teases, baits, because he adores this feeling of being wanted. From being wanted despite how much Koby knows he shouldn't.
He knows, he knows, he knows that he's just going to be a fond little memory of some stupid choices in Koby's future, when he's exactly where he wants to be. He knows it would be better not to get Koby off track. But is it so bad to want to be something to someone so good?
He nearly touches his nose to Koby's, a distraction while he pulls Koby closer by the waist. He purrs;]
Uh-huh. [Another of those huffy, trying-to-be-stern expressions that Koby’s getting worse and worse at, because Fearless moves forward, ducks his head, smiles and smiles and there's a whole list of reasons why this is a bad idea, but they all melt away in light of those hands settling at his waist. Koby nudges his hat back, back, until it falls off, leaving his candyfloss-pink hair fluffy and missed, and he lets himself be pulled closer, blushing and smiling and forgetting to pretend to be stern.] I'll tell you something about how a busted lip just enhances your overall look, how's that?
[Still, he reaches up, looks up with those wide, serious eyes, notes the bruises and cuts with careful brushes of his fingertips, tracing the shape of Fearless's lower lip. The compliment gets a wry laugh, a flicker of something pained in Koby’s expressive eyes.] I think you're the only one who feels that way.
[The military is kinder than the dragons, but yapping, as Koby is prone to, is frowned on in both. And the training is hard already, but Koby pushes himself harder, harder, bandaged and sore and exhausted and still: pushing, pushing. Like he needs to earn his place, somehow.
But it passes, and Koby rises up on his toes until theyre nearly face to face, softens his voice:] Do you want me to keep talking? Or would you rather I do something...um, else?
[Part of Fearless wants to tell Koby that it doesn't matter. That they could do whatever he wants, that he really could just talk to him for hours and it would be something Fearless would look forward to. But that would be too raw, too real, too much like actual feelings— luxuries he cannot afford, and that he certainly doesn't want to burden Koby with the cost of.
...That, and as much as he might like it, he knows better than to encourage it. Talking so much around the wrong people always has the kind of consequences the people Fearless likes— people like Koby— don't deserve. It's always been frustrating, liking it so much and at the same time wishing he'd just shut up and not say what would get his ass kicked.
Besides, what's supposed to happen next is the script Fearless's more used to, and something even easier to perform now that Koby's days under Alvida's thumb are over. How do you get attention from people when you're just some sorry little shit on the street, how to make people like Koby want you over and over, at least until their slumming days are over? ]
I can think of some other things to do with your mouth.
[By being the kind of rebellion they can't resist.]
[Maybe it's a good thing Fearless doesn't say that, because the instant he did, this treacherous, rebellious, helpless thing beneath Koby’s ribs would flare up into a wildfire, would swallow him whole, would make him more than willing to walk away from the ISSF, from the morals and laws he'd sworn to uphold, from everything he'd thought he'd wanted all his life. One word, one inkling that Fearless would do something so bold as take Koby as he is, and he'd be lost.
But even that is a lie -- to himself, to the world, because Fearless grins down at him, teases him, touches him, and Koby knows the script, knows his part is to huff and roll his eyes and tease back. But instead he lets that helpless fondness splash across his face, radiant in his eyes, in his grin as he surges up onto his toes and kisses the corner of Fearless's bruised mouth, kisses him clumsy and sweet and eager, and there's no script for that, there never has been.]
[Koby kisses him and it's like Fearless has been slapped in the face with sunshine, like waking up from a mid-day nap to a glow of gold. Smile still plastered on he leans after Koby just a little when he pulls away, magnetized toward him. It's exactly what he wanted, exactly the permission he was waiting for in their little to-and-fro.]
Oh, uh, I— didn't really catch you the first time.
[He says, bringing one hand up to Koby's cheek and closing the distance between them again, speaking against his lips;]
Let me just—
[And presses them together, keeping Koby closer for just a little longer this time with a gentle touch.]
[That gets a laugh, a muffled, sputtering, fond burst against Fearless's mouth, ends up with Koby red-cheeked and giggling and slipping his arms around the other young man's neck. His mouth's open, soft, warm, softening as this second kiss lingers, stokes something hot and smoldering in his chest.
Fearless doesn't have more than a handful of inches on him, really, but he's solid, immovable, for all that he's lanky and lean, and Koby presses closer, closer, the crisply ironed uniform crinkling, creasing where they're chest-to-chest. He's sure Fearless can feel his heart racing, feel the way his ribs ache from holding his wild pulse back, and he sighs, soft and open-mouthed.]
Better? [It comes out a little dazed, Koby's fingers slipping up into dark, tousled hair, curling there, keeping Fearless close. Close enough to kiss again, quick, sweet, and again, enough times that Koby loses count, gets messy, hungry with it, pushes even closer.]
[See? Just as Fearless was expecting, all that frustration for nothing. He always knew the better way is to just give in and have some fun. And god, is Koby fun like this, kissing him like a starving man gives in to a meal. Fearless, too, eats it up, barely bothering to answer with more than a contented little mmhm, to Koby's question. He has more important things to do with his mouth, answering Koby's kisses with his own hunger. It's impossible for him to pretend that isn't what he wants— Koby's sweetness enveloping him, consuming him whole.
It isn't as though Koby's going to go running off now, so Fearless puts his hands to better work, starting by undoing Koby's tie. The poor boy has to breathe, after all, and those uniform shirt collars are just so tight. He isn't interested in Koby moving too far away yet, though, so he hooks one ankle around Koby's, a cue to keep him close.
He'd honestly ruin Koby's uniform if given the chance, but that would probably ruin a few other things, too, so Fearless opens the button of his collar and after that slides his hands over and up the back of Koby's neck, almost reverently touching his skin, and if he couldn't feel Koby's heart through his chest he sure can feel it now, drumming fast and steady under his thumb.
[Koby is all buttoned-up sweetness in his day-to-day, doe-eyed and solemn and serious, "yes sir" and "no sir" and "absolutely, sir" and maybe that isn't far enough removed from the "yes ma'am" and "no ma'am" of his days under Alvida, but it's his choice, right? That must mean something. That must make it different enough to matter, that he's chosen this version of obedience, rather than having it terrorized or beaten into him.
Regardless, it all slips away when Fearless unties the neat knot of Koby's tie, lets it drape over his shoulders, slips a hand under the open gape of his collar and slips it around, rough and callused and careful, to where his pulse is beating like a rabbit's. There's no need to be sweet or compliant or obedient, no need to do anything except follow the hot rush of instinct that has Koby pressing closer, chest-to-chest, hands curling tight into the fabric of Fearless's shirt, kissing him deeper, hungrier. He's unaware of the way even his most ferocious movements are colored with tenderness, how the sound he makes low in his throat is closer to a purr than a growl.
Because Koby's all sweetness, all the way through, even after years with his hands covered in blood, with his head bowed and his spirit bruised by Alvida's reckless cruelty. He lifts a hand to curl into Fearless's hair and it's tender, soft, thumb shaky over the line of his throat, and the look on his face when he pulls away to breathe is the sort of smitten helplessness that you read about in books. Koby can't help being who he is, and even at his most needy, there's nothing but warmth and affection and adoration in those big sad eyes. He grins up at Fearless, kissdrunk, and rises up on his toes to bump their noses together.] How long can you stay?
[Fearless can do nothing but long for that sweetness, that taste that keeps him coming back for more. It makes him want to do nothing more than say he'd stay forever, that he'd follow Koby like a dog just to feel he belonged at anyone's side.
But Koby's on a better path than what will open up for Fearless. One without such a dead end. He can't doom Koby, not after he's begun to carve a path for himself. But still, but still, he can just take a taste, can't he? sample sweetness from a window and slip away scott-free?]
As long as you want me,
[he teases, dipping in magnetically to Koby's little nuzzles, letting go of Koby's neck and shoulder only to rest his hands on Koby's hips. He doesn't want to force Koby forward— knows he doesn't have to. Koby will give him all the permission he needs. But for just a moment, Fearless wants to bask in that look Koby gives him, and the feeling it gives him like he's something worth being seen.]
[Now that's a dangerous response -- Koby laughs, softly, face flushed, settled chest-to-chest, and he thinks about asking for always, asking for forever, just to see what Fearless will say. In the hazy, warm place he's in, even the prospect of being refused doesn't seem that scary, doesn't seem like it'd shatter apart everything and break him from the inside-out -- though it would. Koby knows damn well it would.
So he swallows back the word, kisses the corner of Fearless's mouth instead, slides his hands under the loose collar of his shirt to graze callused and fond over his skin.] He's on shore leave all weekend. Lights-out was half an hour ago. So -- no check-ins for at least another four hours. Is that enough time? [Sweet, doe-eyed, innocent, like he isn't nudging Fearless back towards his bunk, like there's not a hunger in those wide eyes that burns hotter than solar flares. Like Koby doesn't want to risk everything in those next few hours, hands moving down to the hem of Fearless's shirt, tugging at it gently.
There's hopefulness there too, a soft sweetness that says I'll give you these hours, this time, give you everything I can, just don't hate me for it, just don't disappear before the sun rises, just don't leave me alone before I catch my breath. Fearless hasn't done it yet, even though Koby braces himself for it every time, braces for rejection or cruelty or just plain disinterest. He's gotten it from everyone else, everyone except this boy who should be the very first to give it. There's no reason for him to trust the fond warmth in Fearless's grin, the affection in his touch, in the way he looks downward with dark eyes and a soft smile. But he does, all the same.]
[Fearless's cool facade makes way for the dumbest, most vacant grin.]
Four hours?
[He asks, dopey and love-drunk, stepping back in perfect mirror to Koby's lead, putty in his friend's hands. It'd be a terribly easy thing to take advantage of, Fearless's willingness to do whatever Koby asks in this moment. Things could very well go wrong— hell, Fearless wouldn't have room to even blame Koby if he just decided to turn him in after one of these little stunts. But it hasn't happened yet, and well, wouldn't it be worth the risk anyway?]
I can work with four hours.
[He runs his fingertips around Koby's waistband first, taking his time, just analyzing, before he tugs the tails of Koby's shirt free, too, once again mirroring Koby's touch. He lets go, then, by experience; it's around this many steps before he starts getting close to the bunk and well— four hours is a good chunk of time, but not enough time to justify beefing it and knocking his head against space grade aluminum. So he keeps an arm behind him, catching against the mattress, and then sits when he's sure, dragging his other hand down Koby's arm. It's a leading gesture, an attempt to drag Koby into his lap.]
[That grin-- there might've been a thought, a vague, amorphous wisp of a thing, of turning Fearless in, of using this strange, vibrant, thrumming connection against him. It's the kind of thing that some of the higher-ups would probably appreciate, while also being the sort of thing someone like Alvida would do. Weaponize the way this exasperating, frustrating, amazing guy smiled at Koby like he was the best thing in the galaxy, like he lit the stars and hung the moons.
The thought had made him sick. It still does, a pang of horror that Koby covers with a little huff of a laugh, following after Fearless, keeping a careful eye until he's seated, until he hasn't thwacked his head (again) on the underside of the bunk. There's not much room, but Koby's slight enough that when he slides into Fearless's welcoming, waiting lap, there's still enough space that he barely needs to duck. He does anyways, leaning down for another kiss, smiling against the answering grin.]
Well, you don't have to fill the whole four hours. [Smiling, leaning back a little to start unbuttoning his shirt.] We can take breaks. Talk. If -- you want to. [Koby's painfully aware that his ears are flushing deeper pink as he talks, that the blush is spreading over his cheeks, his neck.] I-I mean. I like talking to you too. Um. So.
[No one ever talks to Fearless like this. Like they want him around for more than just a thrill. Maybe that's what keeps him going back to Koby— not the promise of a lay, but everything that comes after that, too. It's just the only way Fearless knows how to express himself.
Koby turning so pink— it's... really cute. Fearless leans back on his palms long enough to take the sight of Koby on his lap in, to really savor it.]
Careful. Keep talking like that and you might never get me to shut up.
[he says, as if Koby isn't the one who talks even more between the two of them. They both know that. But Fearless can't just come out and say that it makes him feel all warm and strange inside to hear Koby talk like he has a place there in his bed with him outside of the task of a good lay. It's dangerous, dangerous, dangerous...
Anyway, more of Koby's skin is revealed and as far as Fearless is concerned, that is an invitation to press his mouth to it, kissing Koby's collarbone, licking, sucking on it.
Bracing himself for impact if Koby decides to remind him that marking is a bad idea. But still taking the risk, regardless.]
[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.
[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.]
[As always, Fearless's hands, his reverent, warming touch have any residual tension in Koby's spine melting away, any fears of being caught or risking capture fading away like smoke in the wind. He exhales, leans his head back, eyes half-closed, surrendering to the sensation of tongue and teeth and lips against his collarbone, to the thrilling thought of feeling the bruise there for days afterwards, beneath his uniform, a throbbing reminder of this place, this man, this moment.
Of course, he isn't entirely lost -- it's hard to miss the firm stiffness when he shifts slightly, squirming in pleasure. Fearless isn't exactly easy to ignore in that department, after all. Koby grins, pulling back a little to catch his friend's hazy eyes, his own bright with amusement.] So. Did you have any ideas about...what to do next?
[It's an obvious attempt at playing coy, and Koby's smiling far too bright for it to be at all effective, but he also repeats the shift of his hips, the slight grind down, against the slowly-hardening heat beneath him. Spread like this, held like this, Koby wonders if Fearless can tell he's wet yet, if it's noticeable already beneath the properly-belted uniform.]
[Fearless feigns confusion, squinting at Koby and furrowing his brow a bit.]
Thought I was doing you next?
[But he's barely even finished before he's broken back out into his too-cute smile, somehow able to look charming despite how threateningly hard he's getting beneath Koby right now. He doesn't have to feel it to know that Koby must be feeling it— if he wasn't, if he wasn't already warm and slick, Fearless wouldn't be doing this right.
As if to check, but mostly to tease, Fearless sticks his hand between the two of them and slips his fingers past Koby's unfastened waistband, making sure he rubs at Koby's clit on the way down, watching for Koby's reaction as if it's a reward.]
[that line gets a scrunched-up nose, a look halfway between a scowl and a snort of laughter -- because that wasn't even funny, not at all, fearless -- but that grin is back, bright as a solar fire, bright as the moon outside and the sheen of a thousand tiny stars, and koby is helpless now as before as always. fearless is too damn charming, and that's dangerous and that's wonderful and that's going to come back to bite them both someday, maybe.
but there's not room for that now, not with that hand slipping down between them, warm and quick and cleverly familiar. all thoughts of risk or danger have long since fled, replaced with the bolt of pleasure that jerks through koby like electricity at the slip of those callused fingers. down, beneath all the layers, finding exactly the sort of effect he's having. koby makes a sound, one hand flying up to cover his mouth, press his palm to where pleading moans are pressing to escape.
instead he blushes and he swallows back the whimpers and he shakily arches up into the cupping heat of fearless's hand. it's past where his clit's swollen and sensitive and aching, slipping through the messy slick gathered, dripping, soaking his underwear -- evidence that koby either gets wet fast, or he's been turned on this whole time, knee-shivering, heart-pounding, closer and closer to desperate.]
Y-Yeah. That's -- yeah. [all attempts at teasing have melted away, leaving the raw, hopeful sweetness that koby emanates without really trying -- wide sweet eyes and parted panting mouth and his hands finding the back of fearless's neck, cradling, petting at his hair.] D-Do that next, please? Please.
[There's something about desperation that tastes so perfect to someone like Fearless, who normally has to hide from the feeling he might somehow be cosmically undesirable. Perhaps it's because of the fact there can be no more denial, because it's no longer a petty desire but a need, that he's made himself so necessary to the situation his partner— that Koby— can't take it back.
So he's inclined to reward Koby for his desperation— it further insists, after all, how necessary Fearless and his touch is to the situation. His fingers slip lower, rolling side to side over Koby's clit.]
'That' what, you? Or what I'm already up to?
[Fearless plays dumb, like he isn't aching to meet Koby's hips with his own, like his tight tented jeans aren't practically unbearable to be in. It's worth it to tease. The payoff is always so much sweeter when it comes from someone who's so sick of his bullshit and just needs to cum.
Fearless dips deeper until he's able to probe the tips of his two middle fingers into Koby's cunt, no longer a notion of curiosity as much as it is a declaration of intent.]
[koby huffs and scowls and squirms his hips like the insatiable, needy, desperate thing fearless has accused him of being, teasing in that sweet rough voice against his ear, telling him to beg for it, to say just as many filthy things in that stammering, gulping, hoarse voice. and he does, every time, he does because fearless teases his fingers back and forth against, over, alongside his clit and makes heat build and build low in his stomach until koby's drenched, until he's dripping into the cup of that roughened palm. and it's nearly unbearable already, and koby whimpers and drops his forehead against fearless's shoulder and breathes in the sweat-salt scent of him.]
Don't be mean. [it pitches high, whiny, koby's clumsy, shaky hand slipping down to grab at fearless's shirt collar, grip tight, shift his hips to try to get those fingers in deeper. he's so damn wet it's easy, it's effortless, there's no resistance at all, so why won't fearless just --] You know. [what he wants, what he needs, turning and nuzzling into the heat of fearless's neck, exhaling on another of those whimpering sounds, mouth parted against where he can feel the steady, eager beat.
but at least -- he knows fearless is just as turned on as he is, so koby drops his shoulders, one, then the other, lets his unbuttoned shirt slide off over sunkissed shoulders, freckles and fading sunburn, pink as his hair, as the fuzz that leads from his navel down under the open waist of his pants, that curls soaked and fluffy around where fearless's fingers tease him open. koby huffs, rocks his hips, drops his free hand to where fearless is hard, palm cupping, squeezing, breathing out:] Please.
[It's all a bit overwhelming, and perhaps more than someone like Fearless deserves, to have someone fall apart in front of him like this. Koby's desire only feeds his own, and Fearless's inaction starts to stem not from even a desire to tease Koby anymore so much as he is just hypnotized by him. The sounds Koby makes, the heat against Fearless's fingers— it gets his cock twitching, aching, desperate. Still, all of the commands in his head get stuck trying to go at once, until Koby's pleading voice pierces through the horny haze and snaps him back to attention.
That disruption is punctuated by Koby's grip, which eases the lowest little gasp out of Fearless before he nods an affirmative. That's right, he absolutely does need to be inside of Koby like, say, ten minutes ago.]
Yeah. Yes. Let's.
[With a little more thought beginning to process in his poor head again Fearless sets back on task so dutifully, only drawing his hand away from the warmth and wetness that Koby is giving him to drag his fingers over his tongue and then to set about getting Koby's shorts all the way off. They are absolutely, positively in his way right now.]
Move your leg a second—
[He directs, not really waiting for Koby to comply before he continues. He's certain Koby will understand, and lean on him for balance if needed.]
[koby's busy trying to kiss fearless again, and he makes a soft, grouchy sound of protest at being shifted away from this task, until it clicks what he's trying to do. then there's another soft grumble, but koby also snuggles into fearless's shoulder, leaning his slight weight against him, kissing the tip of his ear and mumbling:] Don't -- drop me, okay? I'll get mad and bite your ankles while I'm down there.
[there's a giddy playfulness in his voice, in how he wiggles out of his shorts, slipping them over his slick-streaked thighs, then nimbly tugging one leg, then the other out. the blush on his face, his neck, over his shoulders, is echoed in the pink, damp curls at the apex of his thighs, the flushed folds dripping down his legs, but there's no embarrassment now. not when koby's preoccupied, hands slipping up to undo fearless's pants, then nudging under the waist, finding where he's hard, squeezing gently.]
You don't want to waste any time, right? [sweet, soft, earnest as ever, like he's giving a pep talk or a motivational speech, not being a tease, naked and shivery and needy in fearless's lap, free arm hooking around his neck for stability as he teases his cock with callused fingers.] Because -- well, because if you don't, you should say it. You should ask nicely, maybe. Good manners. [there's a grin on koby's flushed face as he leans back, bites his lower lip.] Don't you think?
ok i reread the book and have more icons i am BACK
[Torturing him. Torturing him, Fearless would claim. But Fearless can take this kind of torture, find it as sweet as pressing a bruise. Good things really do come to those who wait, and there's nothing to really complain about when his cock is twitching in Koby's touch.
Fearless kisses at Koby's chin, at his cheek—]
Fiiiine.
Please?
[Fearless's voice is absolutely saturated with the wideness of his smile, yet tinted by the huskiness of his arousal;]
[and koby beams, nuzzles into the kisses like an affectionate cat, his wickedness and teasing melting away in the face of how openly he craves that sort of contact. he’s weak to touches, to caresses, to being treated like someone worth treating sweetly – fearless no doubt knows that, remembers the earlier days, when koby was still tense and jumpy, flinching at shadows. he’d been vague about his past, his history with the syndicate, but it’s written over his body in old scars, in the haunted look in his big sad eyes, in how when fearless decides to stay, koby curls up tight on his chest and trembles through bad dreams, all night long.
none of that fear is here now, though. instead it’s only softness, sweetness and light, koby’s pouty mouth kissing fearless’s over and over and over, hands clumsy as they push his pants down, out of the way, enough so that he can fish out the hot, hard shape of his cock.] Good. [breathed against fearless’s mouth, punctuated with a laugh, with koby’s freckled, blushing nose bumping fearless’s cheek.] G-Good, lemme just –
[not much room to tease, not here, not so close and warm and impatient. koby breathes in, lines himself up, nudges fearless against the slick heat of his opening, then slowly sinks down onto his cock on the exhale. it pitches up, into a whimpering, pleading sound, and koby’s forehead drops to fearless’s shoulder as he keeps going, unflinching, unceasing, taking him all the way to the base in one smooth motion.]
[If that good is music to Fearless's ears, Koby's laughter is a symphony. For people like the two of them, these comfortable experiences are rare, something to be treasured. Their scars are similar in some places, in others near identical. And even where the experiences aren't the same, they're the only ones who understand, sometimes.
Each of these moments is a treasure, something they're never guaranteed to experience again. So Fearless savors it when Koby's wet heat envelopes him tip to base, but he also savors the weight of Koby's forehead against his shoulder, the warmth of Koby's back underneath his fingertips.
He has to let out a slow, shuddery breath, though, keeping himself evened out as not to lose himself in the feeling too fast. He's ached, waiting to have Koby again.]
God damn, Koby,
[he murmurs, affectionate, awestruck, like he's being blessed.]
I-It’s – good? [this isn’t the first time – it’s not even the tenth, or fifteenth, because whenever they see one another it’s like a switch gets flipped, like koby suddenly can’t get close enough to fearless, can’t be satisfied unless he’s wrapped up in him, on him, beneath him, in his lap like this. he wants to say it’s just youthful horniness – and yes, that’s a very significant part of it.
but it’s more. it’s the way fearless says his name, keeps him close, holds him, and koby’s never felt quite as safe as he does when fearless does that. it makes the rest of the world disappear, narrow down the the shuddery breath of fearless in his ear, the shudder of his long, lean body pressed to koby’s own.
and yes, it’s the incredible, deep, full feeling of fearless buried to the hilt inside him, satisfying that insatiable need that burns deep and fervent and hungry. koby shifts his hips, whines low in his throat, still panting against fearless’s neck as he manages:] F-Feels – good, r-really…really good… [he’s not much of a dirty talker, not consciously – he just means to be honest, to convey just how good he’s feeling right that moment.
then, swallowing hard, he leans back, all big eyes and soft, panting mouth and flushed cheeks, catches fearless’s eyes with his own and slowly rocks his hips. breath shuddering, gaze hot –] D-Does it – do y-you feel good too?
[Fearless really could revel in it all, the feeling of Koby's warmth around him— not just in the slick of his pussy, but the way Koby holds Fearless close. The way he's so honest with his body, with his mouth— how he drapes Fearless in want and care. It's selfish to indulge in, stupid, too, but Fearless knows that the starving need every crumb they can get.
He tucks his nose into Koby's hair, comforted by the scent of it, kept grounded in the pressure of Koby's arms around his neck.]
Incredible,
[He answers through a sigh, shifting his hips forward. Those dark eyes of his latch on to Koby's like a lifeline. He's better, a little at dirtytalking, or he thinks so anyway— but dirty talking isn't the point, he's sure. It's this opportunity to be painfully honest, just for a moment, knowing later both of them will have to go back to pretending they know better.]
Just what I've been— mnh. waiting for.
[Aching for. Desperate for. Another roll of his hips testifies to that need, pushing against Koby's rhythm.]
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Ah, yeah, pep-talk's the only thing that's gonna do it for me.
[He could take. He knows he could. But he teases, baits, because he adores this feeling of being wanted. From being wanted despite how much Koby knows he shouldn't.
He knows, he knows, he knows that he's just going to be a fond little memory of some stupid choices in Koby's future, when he's exactly where he wants to be. He knows it would be better not to get Koby off track. But is it so bad to want to be something to someone so good?
He nearly touches his nose to Koby's, a distraction while he pulls Koby closer by the waist. He purrs;]
I could listen to you talk for hours.
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[Still, he reaches up, looks up with those wide, serious eyes, notes the bruises and cuts with careful brushes of his fingertips, tracing the shape of Fearless's lower lip. The compliment gets a wry laugh, a flicker of something pained in Koby’s expressive eyes.] I think you're the only one who feels that way.
[The military is kinder than the dragons, but yapping, as Koby is prone to, is frowned on in both. And the training is hard already, but Koby pushes himself harder, harder, bandaged and sore and exhausted and still: pushing, pushing. Like he needs to earn his place, somehow.
But it passes, and Koby rises up on his toes until theyre nearly face to face, softens his voice:] Do you want me to keep talking? Or would you rather I do something...um, else?
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...That, and as much as he might like it, he knows better than to encourage it. Talking so much around the wrong people always has the kind of consequences the people Fearless likes— people like Koby— don't deserve. It's always been frustrating, liking it so much and at the same time wishing he'd just shut up and not say what would get his ass kicked.
Besides, what's supposed to happen next is the script Fearless's more used to, and something even easier to perform now that Koby's days under Alvida's thumb are over. How do you get attention from people when you're just some sorry little shit on the street, how to make people like Koby want you over and over, at least until their slumming days are over? ]
I can think of some other things to do with your mouth.
[By being the kind of rebellion they can't resist.]
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But even that is a lie -- to himself, to the world, because Fearless grins down at him, teases him, touches him, and Koby knows the script, knows his part is to huff and roll his eyes and tease back. But instead he lets that helpless fondness splash across his face, radiant in his eyes, in his grin as he surges up onto his toes and kisses the corner of Fearless's bruised mouth, kisses him clumsy and sweet and eager, and there's no script for that, there never has been.]
Like that? [Breathless, giddy.]
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Oh, uh, I— didn't really catch you the first time.
[He says, bringing one hand up to Koby's cheek and closing the distance between them again, speaking against his lips;]
Let me just—
[And presses them together, keeping Koby closer for just a little longer this time with a gentle touch.]
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Fearless doesn't have more than a handful of inches on him, really, but he's solid, immovable, for all that he's lanky and lean, and Koby presses closer, closer, the crisply ironed uniform crinkling, creasing where they're chest-to-chest. He's sure Fearless can feel his heart racing, feel the way his ribs ache from holding his wild pulse back, and he sighs, soft and open-mouthed.]
Better? [It comes out a little dazed, Koby's fingers slipping up into dark, tousled hair, curling there, keeping Fearless close. Close enough to kiss again, quick, sweet, and again, enough times that Koby loses count, gets messy, hungry with it, pushes even closer.]
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It isn't as though Koby's going to go running off now, so Fearless puts his hands to better work, starting by undoing Koby's tie. The poor boy has to breathe, after all, and those uniform shirt collars are just so tight. He isn't interested in Koby moving too far away yet, though, so he hooks one ankle around Koby's, a cue to keep him close.
He'd honestly ruin Koby's uniform if given the chance, but that would probably ruin a few other things, too, so Fearless opens the button of his collar and after that slides his hands over and up the back of Koby's neck, almost reverently touching his skin, and if he couldn't feel Koby's heart through his chest he sure can feel it now, drumming fast and steady under his thumb.
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Regardless, it all slips away when Fearless unties the neat knot of Koby's tie, lets it drape over his shoulders, slips a hand under the open gape of his collar and slips it around, rough and callused and careful, to where his pulse is beating like a rabbit's. There's no need to be sweet or compliant or obedient, no need to do anything except follow the hot rush of instinct that has Koby pressing closer, chest-to-chest, hands curling tight into the fabric of Fearless's shirt, kissing him deeper, hungrier. He's unaware of the way even his most ferocious movements are colored with tenderness, how the sound he makes low in his throat is closer to a purr than a growl.
Because Koby's all sweetness, all the way through, even after years with his hands covered in blood, with his head bowed and his spirit bruised by Alvida's reckless cruelty. He lifts a hand to curl into Fearless's hair and it's tender, soft, thumb shaky over the line of his throat, and the look on his face when he pulls away to breathe is the sort of smitten helplessness that you read about in books. Koby can't help being who he is, and even at his most needy, there's nothing but warmth and affection and adoration in those big sad eyes. He grins up at Fearless, kissdrunk, and rises up on his toes to bump their noses together.] How long can you stay?
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But Koby's on a better path than what will open up for Fearless. One without such a dead end. He can't doom Koby, not after he's begun to carve a path for himself. But still, but still, he can just take a taste, can't he? sample sweetness from a window and slip away scott-free?]
As long as you want me,
[he teases, dipping in magnetically to Koby's little nuzzles, letting go of Koby's neck and shoulder only to rest his hands on Koby's hips. He doesn't want to force Koby forward— knows he doesn't have to. Koby will give him all the permission he needs. But for just a moment, Fearless wants to bask in that look Koby gives him, and the feeling it gives him like he's something worth being seen.]
How long 'til your roommate gets back?
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So he swallows back the word, kisses the corner of Fearless's mouth instead, slides his hands under the loose collar of his shirt to graze callused and fond over his skin.] He's on shore leave all weekend. Lights-out was half an hour ago. So -- no check-ins for at least another four hours. Is that enough time? [Sweet, doe-eyed, innocent, like he isn't nudging Fearless back towards his bunk, like there's not a hunger in those wide eyes that burns hotter than solar flares. Like Koby doesn't want to risk everything in those next few hours, hands moving down to the hem of Fearless's shirt, tugging at it gently.
There's hopefulness there too, a soft sweetness that says I'll give you these hours, this time, give you everything I can, just don't hate me for it, just don't disappear before the sun rises, just don't leave me alone before I catch my breath. Fearless hasn't done it yet, even though Koby braces himself for it every time, braces for rejection or cruelty or just plain disinterest. He's gotten it from everyone else, everyone except this boy who should be the very first to give it. There's no reason for him to trust the fond warmth in Fearless's grin, the affection in his touch, in the way he looks downward with dark eyes and a soft smile. But he does, all the same.]
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Four hours?
[He asks, dopey and love-drunk, stepping back in perfect mirror to Koby's lead, putty in his friend's hands. It'd be a terribly easy thing to take advantage of, Fearless's willingness to do whatever Koby asks in this moment. Things could very well go wrong— hell, Fearless wouldn't have room to even blame Koby if he just decided to turn him in after one of these little stunts. But it hasn't happened yet, and well, wouldn't it be worth the risk anyway?]
I can work with four hours.
[He runs his fingertips around Koby's waistband first, taking his time, just analyzing, before he tugs the tails of Koby's shirt free, too, once again mirroring Koby's touch. He lets go, then, by experience; it's around this many steps before he starts getting close to the bunk and well— four hours is a good chunk of time, but not enough time to justify beefing it and knocking his head against space grade aluminum. So he keeps an arm behind him, catching against the mattress, and then sits when he's sure, dragging his other hand down Koby's arm. It's a leading gesture, an attempt to drag Koby into his lap.]
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The thought had made him sick. It still does, a pang of horror that Koby covers with a little huff of a laugh, following after Fearless, keeping a careful eye until he's seated, until he hasn't thwacked his head (again) on the underside of the bunk. There's not much room, but Koby's slight enough that when he slides into Fearless's welcoming, waiting lap, there's still enough space that he barely needs to duck. He does anyways, leaning down for another kiss, smiling against the answering grin.]
Well, you don't have to fill the whole four hours. [Smiling, leaning back a little to start unbuttoning his shirt.] We can take breaks. Talk. If -- you want to. [Koby's painfully aware that his ears are flushing deeper pink as he talks, that the blush is spreading over his cheeks, his neck.] I-I mean. I like talking to you too. Um. So.
Yeah.
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Koby turning so pink— it's... really cute. Fearless leans back on his palms long enough to take the sight of Koby on his lap in, to really savor it.]
Careful. Keep talking like that and you might never get me to shut up.
[he says, as if Koby isn't the one who talks even more between the two of them. They both know that. But Fearless can't just come out and say that it makes him feel all warm and strange inside to hear Koby talk like he has a place there in his bed with him outside of the task of a good lay. It's dangerous, dangerous, dangerous...
Anyway, more of Koby's skin is revealed and as far as Fearless is concerned, that is an invitation to press his mouth to it, kissing Koby's collarbone, licking, sucking on it.
Bracing himself for impact if Koby decides to remind him that marking is a bad idea. But still taking the risk, regardless.]
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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.
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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.]
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Of course, he isn't entirely lost -- it's hard to miss the firm stiffness when he shifts slightly, squirming in pleasure. Fearless isn't exactly easy to ignore in that department, after all. Koby grins, pulling back a little to catch his friend's hazy eyes, his own bright with amusement.] So. Did you have any ideas about...what to do next?
[It's an obvious attempt at playing coy, and Koby's smiling far too bright for it to be at all effective, but he also repeats the shift of his hips, the slight grind down, against the slowly-hardening heat beneath him. Spread like this, held like this, Koby wonders if Fearless can tell he's wet yet, if it's noticeable already beneath the properly-belted uniform.]
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Thought I was doing you next?
[But he's barely even finished before he's broken back out into his too-cute smile, somehow able to look charming despite how threateningly hard he's getting beneath Koby right now. He doesn't have to feel it to know that Koby must be feeling it— if he wasn't, if he wasn't already warm and slick, Fearless wouldn't be doing this right.
As if to check, but mostly to tease, Fearless sticks his hand between the two of them and slips his fingers past Koby's unfastened waistband, making sure he rubs at Koby's clit on the way down, watching for Koby's reaction as if it's a reward.]
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but there's not room for that now, not with that hand slipping down between them, warm and quick and cleverly familiar. all thoughts of risk or danger have long since fled, replaced with the bolt of pleasure that jerks through koby like electricity at the slip of those callused fingers. down, beneath all the layers, finding exactly the sort of effect he's having. koby makes a sound, one hand flying up to cover his mouth, press his palm to where pleading moans are pressing to escape.
instead he blushes and he swallows back the whimpers and he shakily arches up into the cupping heat of fearless's hand. it's past where his clit's swollen and sensitive and aching, slipping through the messy slick gathered, dripping, soaking his underwear -- evidence that koby either gets wet fast, or he's been turned on this whole time, knee-shivering, heart-pounding, closer and closer to desperate.]
Y-Yeah. That's -- yeah. [all attempts at teasing have melted away, leaving the raw, hopeful sweetness that koby emanates without really trying -- wide sweet eyes and parted panting mouth and his hands finding the back of fearless's neck, cradling, petting at his hair.] D-Do that next, please? Please.
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So he's inclined to reward Koby for his desperation— it further insists, after all, how necessary Fearless and his touch is to the situation. His fingers slip lower, rolling side to side over Koby's clit.]
'That' what, you? Or what I'm already up to?
[Fearless plays dumb, like he isn't aching to meet Koby's hips with his own, like his tight tented jeans aren't practically unbearable to be in. It's worth it to tease. The payoff is always so much sweeter when it comes from someone who's so sick of his bullshit and just needs to cum.
Fearless dips deeper until he's able to probe the tips of his two middle fingers into Koby's cunt, no longer a notion of curiosity as much as it is a declaration of intent.]
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Don't be mean. [it pitches high, whiny, koby's clumsy, shaky hand slipping down to grab at fearless's shirt collar, grip tight, shift his hips to try to get those fingers in deeper. he's so damn wet it's easy, it's effortless, there's no resistance at all, so why won't fearless just --] You know. [what he wants, what he needs, turning and nuzzling into the heat of fearless's neck, exhaling on another of those whimpering sounds, mouth parted against where he can feel the steady, eager beat.
but at least -- he knows fearless is just as turned on as he is, so koby drops his shoulders, one, then the other, lets his unbuttoned shirt slide off over sunkissed shoulders, freckles and fading sunburn, pink as his hair, as the fuzz that leads from his navel down under the open waist of his pants, that curls soaked and fluffy around where fearless's fingers tease him open. koby huffs, rocks his hips, drops his free hand to where fearless is hard, palm cupping, squeezing, breathing out:] Please.
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That disruption is punctuated by Koby's grip, which eases the lowest little gasp out of Fearless before he nods an affirmative. That's right, he absolutely does need to be inside of Koby like, say, ten minutes ago.]
Yeah. Yes. Let's.
[With a little more thought beginning to process in his poor head again Fearless sets back on task so dutifully, only drawing his hand away from the warmth and wetness that Koby is giving him to drag his fingers over his tongue and then to set about getting Koby's shorts all the way off. They are absolutely, positively in his way right now.]
Move your leg a second—
[He directs, not really waiting for Koby to comply before he continues. He's certain Koby will understand, and lean on him for balance if needed.]
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[there's a giddy playfulness in his voice, in how he wiggles out of his shorts, slipping them over his slick-streaked thighs, then nimbly tugging one leg, then the other out. the blush on his face, his neck, over his shoulders, is echoed in the pink, damp curls at the apex of his thighs, the flushed folds dripping down his legs, but there's no embarrassment now. not when koby's preoccupied, hands slipping up to undo fearless's pants, then nudging under the waist, finding where he's hard, squeezing gently.]
You don't want to waste any time, right? [sweet, soft, earnest as ever, like he's giving a pep talk or a motivational speech, not being a tease, naked and shivery and needy in fearless's lap, free arm hooking around his neck for stability as he teases his cock with callused fingers.] Because -- well, because if you don't, you should say it. You should ask nicely, maybe. Good manners. [there's a grin on koby's flushed face as he leans back, bites his lower lip.] Don't you think?
ok i reread the book and have more icons i am BACK
[Torturing him. Torturing him, Fearless would claim. But Fearless can take this kind of torture, find it as sweet as pressing a bruise. Good things really do come to those who wait, and there's nothing to really complain about when his cock is twitching in Koby's touch.
Fearless kisses at Koby's chin, at his cheek—]
Fiiiine.
Please?
[Fearless's voice is absolutely saturated with the wideness of his smile, yet tinted by the huskiness of his arousal;]
Pretty please?
A GIFT AND A TREASURE FORRRRR MEEEE
none of that fear is here now, though. instead it’s only softness, sweetness and light, koby’s pouty mouth kissing fearless’s over and over and over, hands clumsy as they push his pants down, out of the way, enough so that he can fish out the hot, hard shape of his cock.] Good. [breathed against fearless’s mouth, punctuated with a laugh, with koby’s freckled, blushing nose bumping fearless’s cheek.] G-Good, lemme just –
[not much room to tease, not here, not so close and warm and impatient. koby breathes in, lines himself up, nudges fearless against the slick heat of his opening, then slowly sinks down onto his cock on the exhale. it pitches up, into a whimpering, pleading sound, and koby’s forehead drops to fearless’s shoulder as he keeps going, unflinching, unceasing, taking him all the way to the base in one smooth motion.]
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Each of these moments is a treasure, something they're never guaranteed to experience again. So Fearless savors it when Koby's wet heat envelopes him tip to base, but he also savors the weight of Koby's forehead against his shoulder, the warmth of Koby's back underneath his fingertips.
He has to let out a slow, shuddery breath, though, keeping himself evened out as not to lose himself in the feeling too fast. He's ached, waiting to have Koby again.]
God damn, Koby,
[he murmurs, affectionate, awestruck, like he's being blessed.]
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but it’s more. it’s the way fearless says his name, keeps him close, holds him, and koby’s never felt quite as safe as he does when fearless does that. it makes the rest of the world disappear, narrow down the the shuddery breath of fearless in his ear, the shudder of his long, lean body pressed to koby’s own.
and yes, it’s the incredible, deep, full feeling of fearless buried to the hilt inside him, satisfying that insatiable need that burns deep and fervent and hungry. koby shifts his hips, whines low in his throat, still panting against fearless’s neck as he manages:] F-Feels – good, r-really…really good… [he’s not much of a dirty talker, not consciously – he just means to be honest, to convey just how good he’s feeling right that moment.
then, swallowing hard, he leans back, all big eyes and soft, panting mouth and flushed cheeks, catches fearless’s eyes with his own and slowly rocks his hips. breath shuddering, gaze hot –] D-Does it – do y-you feel good too?
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He tucks his nose into Koby's hair, comforted by the scent of it, kept grounded in the pressure of Koby's arms around his neck.]
Incredible,
[He answers through a sigh, shifting his hips forward. Those dark eyes of his latch on to Koby's like a lifeline. He's better, a little at dirtytalking, or he thinks so anyway— but dirty talking isn't the point, he's sure. It's this opportunity to be painfully honest, just for a moment, knowing later both of them will have to go back to pretending they know better.]
Just what I've been— mnh. waiting for.
[Aching for. Desperate for. Another roll of his hips testifies to that need, pushing against Koby's rhythm.]