[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 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.]