[There's a very satisfied, smug look on Koby's face, triumphant at the success. Definitely worth all the research, not to mention figuring out how to actually use the toy. He'd said he'd been practicing, after all, no easy feat in a Marine base.
But it's all worth it, having the long, lean, muscled form of Mihawk pressed against him, kissing him deep and possessive. Even the alleyway is forgotten, in favor of Koby getting his hands all up in the pirate's hair, pulling him even closer, panting against his mouth when they finally pull apart.
And then Mihawk is moving back downwards, and Koby has truly created a monster. A chest-tormenting monster. The question comes in between those teasing, maddening licks and sucks, each one sending electric pulses of pleasure right down the young cadet's spine, pooling hot between his legs.
And Koby's so distracted, so thoroughly caught up in how good it feels that he tells the truth without thinking, breathless and whimpering:] N-No. Never been with -- anyone else, s-so.
[Which Mihawk probably already guessed, but this is the first time Koby's admitted it aloud.]
(No, Mihawk could imagine not. Not with how nosey some cadets were known to be. CoughcoughKOBYcough. What really makes Mihawk's blood run hot is perhaps the idea that Koby was thinking extensively about him in his downtime.
Enough to do the research. Enough to get the toy. Enough to practice. It makes something simmering hot flow through his chest and threatens to capsize his better sensibilities.
It's what causes him to physically pause over Koby.
It shouldn't be a surprise, really. Koby really was not the sort of guy who struck Mihawk as the sort to sleep around. Too dedicated to his duties and too shy. Still too insecure. They had never once discussed anything like commitment - why would they? They had only ever fallen together for the sake of sex, after all.
Yet something like relief creeps into Mihawk anyway. It's a foolish, stupid emotion. He was a grown man. If Koby had wanted to sleep with other men, it wouldn't have been surprising. By the sea gods, he knew he was hardly Koby's ideal sort. No, Mihawk always figured that title was reserved for the likes of Luffy.
Knowing that Koby hadn't though...He feels elated. He hadn't slept with anyone else since entering this thing with Koby either. But he was never a particularly sexual man to begin with. He doesn't realize he's come back up to look Koby in the eye, something bright and nearly starved in his gaze, uncharacteristically open for Mihawk. He grabs him by the jaw and gives him a firm kiss. One that speaks volumes: Good. You better not.)
You know who you belong to then. (A growl of words, utterly satisfied.)
[If Koby was more sober, the pause would've worried him, prompted a downward spiral of concern that was unfortunately very characteristic of him. As it is, though, all it makes him do is huff in annoyance that Mihawk's stopped doing that truly exquisite thing with his tongue.
But then the pirate is rising back up, meeting Koby's eyes, and it's surprisingly easy to read the emotion there -- dangerous and fierce as always, but also alight with a hunger Koby usually only catches glimpses of. It makes him relieved that his glasses are still in place -- he'd tried to take them off, the first time, but apparently Mihawk liked them? Strange.
In response to the look, there's an almost shy smile. Now that it's out there -- there hasn't been anyone else, there isn't now -- Koby isn't sure why he'd been so desperate to keep that secret. Because it's the truth. Luffy is -- both complex and breathtakingly simple, a symbol of all the things Koby had been too afraid to pursue for years. He's idealistic and unattainable, like trying to touch the sun.
Mihawk is intimidating, but he's real. He's flesh and heat and pleasure and sweat. Koby can reach out and touch him, know he's real. There's something about him that's addictive, that stokes the feverish hunger Koby usually tries to pretend he doesn't have.
The firm, hard kiss, the grip on his chin does that as well, sending the cadet into luxurious shivers. He's already soaked, has been since they got here, thighs pressing together to try and alleviate the insistent pulse of desire that Mihawk's words bring.]
Mmmhmm. [It's barely words, mumbled against the warlord's mouth, some irrational part of Koby wanting that hand to bruise his face, leave some physical reminder of the ferociously possessive words.]
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But it's all worth it, having the long, lean, muscled form of Mihawk pressed against him, kissing him deep and possessive. Even the alleyway is forgotten, in favor of Koby getting his hands all up in the pirate's hair, pulling him even closer, panting against his mouth when they finally pull apart.
And then Mihawk is moving back downwards, and Koby has truly created a monster. A chest-tormenting monster. The question comes in between those teasing, maddening licks and sucks, each one sending electric pulses of pleasure right down the young cadet's spine, pooling hot between his legs.
And Koby's so distracted, so thoroughly caught up in how good it feels that he tells the truth without thinking, breathless and whimpering:] N-No. Never been with -- anyone else, s-so.
[Which Mihawk probably already guessed, but this is the first time Koby's admitted it aloud.]
no subject
Enough to do the research. Enough to get the toy. Enough to practice. It makes something simmering hot flow through his chest and threatens to capsize his better sensibilities.
It's what causes him to physically pause over Koby.
It shouldn't be a surprise, really. Koby really was not the sort of guy who struck Mihawk as the sort to sleep around. Too dedicated to his duties and too shy. Still too insecure. They had never once discussed anything like commitment - why would they? They had only ever fallen together for the sake of sex, after all.
Yet something like relief creeps into Mihawk anyway. It's a foolish, stupid emotion. He was a grown man. If Koby had wanted to sleep with other men, it wouldn't have been surprising. By the sea gods, he knew he was hardly Koby's ideal sort. No, Mihawk always figured that title was reserved for the likes of Luffy.
Knowing that Koby hadn't though...He feels elated. He hadn't slept with anyone else since entering this thing with Koby either. But he was never a particularly sexual man to begin with. He doesn't realize he's come back up to look Koby in the eye, something bright and nearly starved in his gaze, uncharacteristically open for Mihawk. He grabs him by the jaw and gives him a firm kiss. One that speaks volumes: Good. You better not.)
You know who you belong to then. (A growl of words, utterly satisfied.)
no subject
But then the pirate is rising back up, meeting Koby's eyes, and it's surprisingly easy to read the emotion there -- dangerous and fierce as always, but also alight with a hunger Koby usually only catches glimpses of. It makes him relieved that his glasses are still in place -- he'd tried to take them off, the first time, but apparently Mihawk liked them? Strange.
In response to the look, there's an almost shy smile. Now that it's out there -- there hasn't been anyone else, there isn't now -- Koby isn't sure why he'd been so desperate to keep that secret. Because it's the truth. Luffy is -- both complex and breathtakingly simple, a symbol of all the things Koby had been too afraid to pursue for years. He's idealistic and unattainable, like trying to touch the sun.
Mihawk is intimidating, but he's real. He's flesh and heat and pleasure and sweat. Koby can reach out and touch him, know he's real. There's something about him that's addictive, that stokes the feverish hunger Koby usually tries to pretend he doesn't have.
The firm, hard kiss, the grip on his chin does that as well, sending the cadet into luxurious shivers. He's already soaked, has been since they got here, thighs pressing together to try and alleviate the insistent pulse of desire that Mihawk's words bring.]
Mmmhmm. [It's barely words, mumbled against the warlord's mouth, some irrational part of Koby wanting that hand to bruise his face, leave some physical reminder of the ferociously possessive words.]