burnyoudown | Open RP Post

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Open RP Post

🔥 Hit me up on plurk or via PM if you have any questions/want to run an idea by me first/what-have-you.
🔥 General squick/trigger list.
🔥 m/m for anything shippy.
🔥 General headcanon for Kavinsky. If you've got different headcanon/ideas for a psl, hit me with 'em; I'm flexible.
🔥 Kavinsky's kink list.
🔥 This is open to everyone who wants to thread with me!

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[His boys knew, of course. Or they knew sort of. They ribbed Kavinsky about the whole thing and usually, he laughed along with them. What was he doing kissing Dick Gansey? Gansey was handsome and charming in ways that Kavinsky wasn't--which wasn't to say K wasn't handsome or charming but his charm wasn't the same as Gansey's. Gansey's handsomeness seemed effortless, as if he could roll out of bed and go right about his day looking perfect. Besides that, he had a nice mouth and nice eyes. Kavinsky let his boys think it was all surface-level attraction. It was easier that way.

He was surprised to see Gansey there, but he didn't show it. He was riding a glorious high, shirtless, wearing his sunglasses no matter how late and dark it was. His heart tripped a little but he smirked, pushing away from Swan's car as Swan and Skov exchanged a look behind his back. Swan leaned in to say something in Skov's ear and the other boy started laughing. Knowing Skov right now it didn't even have to be funny; everything was funny when he was high.]

You know what they say; better late than never.

[What did it mean that Gansey had showed up? Did it mean anything at all? He knew, vaguely, what Gansey thought of him and most of it wasn't pretty. But he also had a smile that made Kavinsky want to set shit on fire. In a good way.]

You got something for me?

[It was a substance party, after all, but the only substance he was looking for right now was a kiss.]

[Gansey's eyes glitter in the dark, and he drinks in Kavinsky. He's gorgeous; slender but not delicate, all sharp lines and Gansey wants to trace his fingers where his jeans sit against his hips. Maybe he could stand to put on a little weight, but he still wears it well- he always looks sharp and beautiful. Especially now, when he looks in his element, like the dark king that everyone called him.

He couldn't help grinning for a moment just to see him like this. He knows that K's boys know, but he figures that Kavinsky wont let them ruin this. If anyone's going to pull this thing they have into the light, he figures it'll be K himself. Ronan will say something after a race and he'll be unable to resist pointing out that he's sleeping with his best-friend.

There's a hundred ways that Gansey can imagine Kavinsky throwing this in Ronan's face, or showing up to Monmouth with more than ID cards. And yet he didn't have the sense to get out first. He didn't want to. Normally it was that Gansey couldn't see the consequences until it was too late. With Kavinsky-- he just couldn't walk away, even knowing what he was walking into.]

A little something, yeah.

[He closes the distance between them, trying to not seem too eager, even if he is. Gansey slipping his index fingers into the loops of K's jeans, slowly leaning in to kiss him as he curls his hands against his hips. He lingers in it, but only for a few breaths, letting his lips graze against his jaw as he pulls back, murmuring words soft and low just for him.]

Maybe more without an audience.

[He should probably be more cautious, but- Kavinsky makes taking risks seem reasonable. And he really likes being near him, touching him, just... He likes how he makes him feel, how he quiets his thoughts for a while when they're together. Tethers him so he can just exist, just be here with the other boy. He can't help fantasizing for a moment about being able to spend the night or bring him back to Monmouth. To sleep curled up against him, or with his head in his lap, and just wake up next to this beautiful boy.

It felt hedonistic just to think of it.]

I couldn't sleep anyway, so I wanted to see you before I left.

[He says it like it's casual, and any other night he'd have believed it was, but tonight he knows better. Perhaps because of the odd way that things had started between them, but- when he's with Kavinsky he feels at his most honest. As if he doesn't need to pretend to be someone else, as if K takes who he is, not just who he can be for him. It's intoxicating, makes being greedy almost feel acceptable.]

[Gansey understood, even if he wasn't quite willing to say it. People at Aglionby liked him, but none of them knew who he was. They liked the idea they had of him, they liked his last name. Kavinsky had gotten in a little bit closer than that, so that even if they weren't friends, he was still-- Gansey could be more real with him than anyone else that he could call.

So despite everything else, Kavinsky was still better than the guys from Crew, or Tad Carruthers. He was something, even if Gansey couldn't have entirely explained the feeling.

He laughs a little at the question, ducking his head slightly as he drags a hand through his hair. He nods, shrugging his shoulders a touch awkwardly as he looks him in the eyes, his hazel eyes warm and almost sweet, although he looks a little self-conscious.]

Yeah, I guess I did. It's better with you here.

[He doesn't feel alone with Kavinsky. He doesn't really think about that too hard, about the fact that at some point this disaster of a boy started orbiting around their circle. Not one of Gansey's things, but more like- he doesn't quite understand it himself, honestly. Maybe they share Ronan, or maybe he's decided he doesn't mind if K steals his things once in a while as long as he gets them back. Maybe he steals a little bit of all of them, even Gansey. His attention, his focus, his time.

When K says he plays a little, that at least gives him some form of immediate plan. So he moves over to the pool table, about to reach for one of the cues, when he looks at Kavinsky instead. There's a smile, a flash of white teeth at the way he imitates his accent, and he pauses, leans his hip against the polished wood as he pulls the triangular wood rack from the table instead.]

Really? What did you figure me for, then?

[The question feels dangerous. He knows he probably wont like the answer. They've never been particularly kind to each other, after all. Although Gansey has had to admit that part of his ire with Kavinsky was really frustration with Ronan's behavior- K just made an easier target. It was easier to convince himself that the problem was someone else coercing Ronan into bad decisions and not the choices he was making.]

I'm flattered.

[He sounded casual, but he meant it. Who would've thought he'd be here, hanging out with Gansey like they were friends. He still didn't know what they were really. What was between acquaintances and friends? They didn't quite hold each other at arm's length but they didn't share all their darkest secrets, either.

Grinning, he considered the question. What did he figure Gansey did in his spare time?]

Golf. Crossword puzzles. Maybe sudoku. You know, whatever boring intellectuals are into.

[Pool, on the other hand, there were pool tables in bars. It was different than golf- and not just in all of the obvious ways.

He stalked closer, a big cat on the prowl, and pushed into Gansey's space, far too close. His voice was low when he spoke again.]

Used to think you spent your free time fucking Lynch. Or getting fucked. Guess I was wrong about that. Works out in your favor, though.

[Kavinsky wouldn't have let any of his boys know even a little of what was going on if he didn't trust them to keep their mouths shut about it. They were good at keeping things quiet, even Jiang and Skov, who could talk about shit forever. When it came down to it, he knew he could rely on them.

He watched Gansey with a lazy grin, a little shiver running down his spine as the other boy touched him, kissed him. He made a soft noise, barely audible, and tried to chase Gansey's mouth when he pulled away. If there'd been other people watching, he would've never let himself look so desperate, but it was just his boys right now and they knew him better than anyone else.

For a brief moment, he thought of teasing him, asking if he was shy. K's boys had seen a lot worse than him fucking someone, but- maybe he didn't want them to see or know. Maybe he wanted some things to be private. Not a secret, just- not for prying eyes.

But there was more to it than that, he was sure. Gansey was more on the proper side, and as frustrating as that was sometimes, it was also endearing.]

Drive me home and we can do whatever you want.

[Or even just somewhere dark and secluded. He wouldn't be opposed to fucking around anywhere.]

How long are you going to be gone?

[Honestly, Kavinsky's assessment is neither entirely incorrect, nor as insulting as Gansey had expected. He'd imagined he was going to say things like knitting. Instead his words are fair instead of like he's pointedly trying to get a raise out of him.]

I don't care for golf, but it's one of the unfortunate hazards attached to my last name.

[Gansey pulls the pool balls out of the table two at a time, letting them roll against the green felt, only to go still when he realized that Kavinsky was suddenly too close- in his space, the sort of proximity that gave the air a charge, made his heart race.

Fishing for trouble, for sure.

He should step back, but he doesn't. The words that follow make him feel- he doesn't know. He probably would have been all sharp disapproval if Kavinsky wasn't so close, if the tone of his voice hadn't shifted into something that felt less like it usually had when he was tossing sexualized insults at the pair of boys.

And it's tonight, when Gansey is trying to not wallow in wanting things he can't have. So there's something like longing on his face, a little wounded, even if he tries to be less obvious about it.]

It was never like that.

[He says it softly, the words careful, but his breath still makes it easy to read what he doesn't say: it was never like that for Ronan. Gansey had wanted, ached with it, but he buries it now. Tries to make his feelings into something acceptable, to be able to support his friends, to be happy for them- and he is. He's always wanted Ronan to be happy, or at least have a chance at it.

But there's something about having Kavinsky this close, about having him invoke those old insults that probably wouldn't have bothered him nearly as much if he'd gone home and had his impossible best-friend in his arms. But it always reminded him of what they weren't.]

I'm glad he has Adam. Although I don't see how that's in my favor.

[He's courting trouble, or at least willing to chase it. He could just leave it be, walk away, but he doesn't. His hands braced against the pool table, but he doesn't flinch from having the other boy in his space, from the way his voice feels like a suggestion that heats his skin.]

[Knitting would have been a good one if he'd actually been trying to piss Gansey off. But he was trying to be- not charming, exactly, but not an outright asshole, either.]

So you have to play golf with boring rich people?

[He said, as a rich person himself, but he liked to think the last thing anyone would ever consider him was boring.

He nodded when Gansey said it was never like that, because yeah, he knew that now. Really, he'd just been jealous about how Gansey and Ronan had seemed joined at the hip, never one without the other. He'd wanted Ronan all to himself, but now- yeah, he was glad Ronan was happy, too. He still wished and hoped, but those things would probably never come true. That was okay. It was fine. He could set his sights elsewhere.

Laughing, low and amused, he reached out to trace one fingertip along the side of Gansey's face, feather-light.]

It's in your favor 'cause it means I don't want to beat your face in anymore. I'd rather do other things.

[Was it an innuendo? Absolutely. Was he gauging Gansey's reaction to it? Absolutely.]

Sometimes. And my father likes to point out that business deals are often decided on the golf course and only finalized in the boardroom.

[There's a slight shift in how he enunciates for a moment, like he's imitating his father, but it's honestly a bit too much like doing an impression of himself- hard to tell the difference if you've never met the man. But point being was that Gansey had to learn to play, even if he had little interest in it. It was one of those skills that was useful largely in saying you knew how, like playing the piano and crossword puzzles.

Kavinsky might be rich, but it had always seemed like he must have come from a different culture, a different set of expectations. A youth that didn't involve golf and learning the piano and lawn parties with boring politicians. But maybe he was wrong; he'd misjudged him before.

And then the entire conversion seems lost and unimportant, because there's that way that Kavinsky laughs, his voice low, and it sounds downright sultry. He almost thinks he's imagining it, but then the other boy traces a fingertip against his face, the lightest sort of touch. Gansey lets him, feels almost light-headed, like he'd forgotten to breathe. He doesn't pull away, doesn't ask him what he's doing. He leans into it, just a little, a flutter as he looks at the other boy.

You'd think the mention of wanting to beat his face in would ruin the moment, but it doesn't. Instead it's the ending, where he says that he'd rather do other things that Gansey finds himself fastening onto. His voice is neither icy nor overly polite when he finds his words.]

What sort of things?

[His voice sounds rough and flushed, even to his own ears, and he's glad that he's leaning against the pool table, because he feels unsteady. Maybe Kavinsky is just doing it for a laugh, but he's gorgeous, and he can't help letting it get under his skin. He's looking at him, a different sort of focus to it, the way that he lit up in the face of secrets and wonders.

Maybe it would be easy to say that Kavinsky was seducing him, but the truth was something more mutual. Because Gansey knew what he was doing when he asked the question, knew this was trouble and that he was following anyway. He wanted to, even if he hadn't quite admitted that to himself. But it was true anyway. His dark eyes were captivating, and he'd never had this sort of attention focused on him before.]

[He made a quiet noise in response to the first bit, more to just acknowledge that he'd heard Gansey because now he was much more interested in other things. Like the way Gansey had leaned into his touch. Kavinsky was cruel, but he wasn't cruel enough to lead someone on. When he was interested in someone, he was interested. Any leading on that happened was purely accidental, borne from obliviousness. He didn't expect there to be strings attached in most cases, and people were prone to catching feelings- himself included.

But this was- he was feeling Gansey out. They'd known each other for a few months by now but they didn't know each other. He couldn't say he was invested in changing that just yet, but he could be convinced to want to know the inner workings of Richard Gansey.

He leaned in a little closer- he had absolutely no concept of personal space (or rather, he did, but only when it suited him)- and said:]

I was thinking about kissing you.

[And then, well, he did kiss him. He assumed Gansey would stop him if he wasn't into it, and Kavinsky wouldn't try to force it beyond that.]

Oh.

[That's all the response his brain can muster when Kavinsky says that he's thinking about kissing him. Which notably isn't a no, it isn't a protest, or laughing it off, or any of the responses that he probably should have had when it came to the idea of Kavinsky kissing him. And even if what he says could be mistaken as a lack of interest, there's heat in his tone, in the way that he says it.

And he kisses him back.

It's a little bit shy at first, almost unsure, but he is into it. A slow sort of desire as he leans into him, reaching up to curl fingers against his shoulder. There's a helpless sort of sound in his throat, a shiver in his frame. It's not his first kiss or anything, but- it's been a long time since he's kissed anyone. Since anyone wanted to kiss him. He's tactile when you pull away the layers of the people he is for other people.

Gansey's been so alone. Partially his own fault, of course. Courting a dead Welsh King didn't imply a predisposition towards affection.]

[It was nicer kissing Gansey than he thought it would be. He'd never really like, daydreamed about it or anything- not until recently. It'd crossed his mind a few times over the last week or so, and he figured that if he was still thinking about it, it might be worth giving a try. Gansey didn't even push him away, which was an added bonus. Kavinsky thought for sure he would have, considering their history.

But no, there he was, kissing him back. And Kavinsky crowded ever closer into his space, resting his hands on his hips as he more or less pinned him against the side of the pool table. It wasn't even so much that Kavinsky was attempting to prevent his prey from fleeing but- he was very physical, tactile. He liked touching and being touched.

He didn't even try to push for more; it was a steady kiss that he let linger for a long moment before he pulled away to murmur-]

Thought you didn't like me.

[Gansey would never have thought of the fact that Kavinsky would make him breathless, but here they were.

There was something about the way that his hands pressed to Gansey's hips, pinning him up against the side of the pool table. He had no intention of fleeing, but somehow the way he held him in place got under his skin. He liked it, wanted it. It made his fingers cling to his shoulder just a little tighter, has him breathing ragged and uneven when they part.

There's a slight touch of amusement as he catches his breath in response to K's words and Gansey reaches up, looking into his eyes. And it feels different, like seeing him for the first time outside of who he was to Ronan. Seeing him like he could be someone to Gansey. He touches his fingers against his jaw, the slightest whisper of his fingertips as he skims against his skin.]

Mm. You're not as bad as I used to think.

[His voice is teasing, almost fond. But- there's a truth to it, too. Like Gansey knows he should apologize for having been an asshole, for blaming Kavinsky because it was easy. For knowing he was a drug dealer and thinking that was all he needed to hear about him. For the fact that if Ronan hadn't brought K back that he would never have bothered re-contextualizing any of it at all.

But Gansey wasn't great at apologies himself, and it seemed like the sort of conversation that just begged for him to find some way to say something careless and insulting. And he didn't want to chase him off.]

But you were always terribly attractive.

[Elijah gets pulled into Kavinsky's pack of dogs because he has nowhere else to go. Or well, nowhere else that he wants to go, at least. Because when he snarled at Kavinsky, all bared teeth and sharp eyes, he'd grinned. Not like he was mocking him, but like he could put up with him, like he didn't find him off-putting. Elijah moves through the world like he's ready to fight the whole room, which tends to make him a loner by default, but K doesn't seem to mind.

And slowly, it turns out that he doesn't have to be. Kavinsky can put up with him at his worst, and slowly Eli learns to let down his walls a little bit. Enough to show that there's good to go with it, too. That he isn't all anger, even if he's got it in spades. He gels with Skov and Jiang, and he likes Swan too. Proko- is strange. He doesn't know how he feels about him. Like they're sort of the same, somehow. He thinks he'd die for him. K and his boys are the only friends he needs, as far as he's concerned.

He loves cars, his family, and- maybe Kavinsky and his boys. They all seem to be made of the same stuff, in one way or another.

There's a shadow to him, something he doesn't talk about, but everyone has secrets, trauma. He races with them, shows up at K's parties, drinks and gets high with them, and that seems to be what matters.

One night, Eli puts someone on their ass for getting in K's face. Not really a fight- he just hauls the guy backwards and hits their knee so they tumble to the ground, sputtering in fury. He calls Eli just another one of K's dogs, and the dark-haired boy grins, wild and almost manic, green eyes glittering by the light of the bonfire.

Do you really think that's a fucking insult?

So of course Elijah ends up as part of the pack. It had felt almost inevitable. But, he doesn't sleep around them often, always wakes in a panic when he does. He'll stay over a couple nights, but he usually stays up, whether that's watching bootleg Saudi racing videos, or flirting, or just pressed up close to someone's side just for the proximity, the contact. But he usually ducks out before that can go far enough to really be called making out.

It's been a couple months. Long enough that he's close with the other boys, but not so close they've all spilled their heart veins, that they know each others' secrets and worst truths. Tonight he lets himself be talked into trying one of K's pills, not quite knowing what to expect from this one. It's just the boys at K's house, ostensibly there to watch movies, but Eli ends up in his bedroom as he places the pill on his tongue. It seems safe, even if he knows better than most what a fucking lie that is. But it's an easy high, soft and syrupy. He drifts, nuzzling into his side. K says something that he doesn't quite catch- probably checking Skov doesn't set the kitchen on fire- and he falls into sleep before he comes back.

But he's there at his side, next to him in his bed, when it all goes to shit.

Maybe K can tell the difference. The way that it's less like Elijah brings them back with him, and almost more like things fall out of his dreams. It sets Kavinsky's comforter on fire, along with the clothes Eli had been wearing. A pair of creatures of all wrong angles, shifting features that obeyed dream logic, not waking logic. It was all shadow and flame, turning the air to ashes. K goes for his gun, and Elijah is halfway through you can't-- because only dreams can kill a dream, when K puts a bullet through its face and it starts to crumble.

Eli had managed to peel himself out of his clothes before they burned him, so he's down to his boxers when he draws a sword from the air. After a brief scuffle he shoves it into the other one, accidentally up-ending Kavinsky's bedside table in the process. There's blood and strange bodies that even in death don't fit in the waking world- but then it's just blood and ashes. And if Kavinsky is paying attention, he might catch the moment when the sword climbs back onto Elijah's skin. Ink that trails up his fingers, curling around his wrist again, and slowly spelling out Latin words in a line up his arm that means: I will find a way or I will make one.

But standing there in plaid boxers and nothing else, it's hard to miss the scars on his chest. Surgery scars- around his nipples and the bottom edge of where they redefined his chest. They're healing well, but still recent- the scars are pink, rather than faded silver. His breathing is rough with the adrenaline, and he wants to ask ... there's so many things he wants to ask. But instead his shoulders curl in, and he deflates in a way he hasn't before, that seems like more than the dreams. Something in his body language, in how he looks at Kavinsky changes.]

Do you.. have a shirt I can borrow?

[He imagines the other boys will probably be checking in on K in a moment, and he doesn't want them to see him like this. He should ask about the gun, about the fact that K killed a dream like he'd done it before, but the terror clawing in his heart feels more pressing- that the only boys he'd thought of as his friends won't see him for who he is.]

[He stroked his thumbs against Gansey's hips, smirking a little but also leaning into Gansey's touch.]

Neither are you. I thought you were a boring asshole. All full of yourself.

[And boring, had he mentioned boring? Gansey still wasn't like, a wild party boy, but he had his moments. Kavinsky was secretly fond of the way Gansey got excited about things, like Cabeswater. They might not have shared the same passions, but hearing him ramble about things was- oddly endearing. He wondered if that was the way the rest of Gansey's friends felt about it. If that was why they put up with him sometimes.

He preened a little when he was told he was attractive, and really, one could argue about not stroking his ego, but sometimes it needed a little stroke. He could be so hard on himself.]

And you've got a great mouth. And beautiful eyes.

[And nice hair that was just begging for fingers to run through it. And a neck that equally begged to be touched and kissed. He couldn't help but wonder if the rest of Gansey was as nice as the parts he could see.]

[It'd been a while since he'd had to shoot a dream, but not as long as he would've liked. There was always a chance he would pull something awful from his own dreams, a dragon or a horror amalgamation that needed to be disposed of before something terrible happened. But this hadn't been his dream.

His room was something of a wreck now, but he didn't really care. Everything in it was just a thing; he could replace or fix them. People were more important, and both himself and Elijah seemed unharmed. He wasn't looking at the mess though; he was looking at Elijah. At his scars, at the tattoos on his arms, the way the sword melted back into his skin. He had so many questions; he didn't know where to start. But there was a more pressing matter to take care of first.

Nodding, he put the gun down on the top of the dresser.]

Yeah.

[He opened a drawer, rifled through the contents, and pulled out an old band t-shirt, worn and soft, and held it out to Elijah.

He couldn't help but stare again, gaze flickering to his tattoos, particularly the Latin bit. Latin wasn't his best subject, but he thought he got the gist. He couldn't get the thought out of his head; Elijah was magic. He was magic. And Kavinsky might never have found out if this accident hadn't happened. He assumed it was an accident, at least. Unless Elijah had wanted to kill him with a fire and horrible creatures. He doubted it, though. It was a complicated way to kill someone; easier to just put a bullet in their head or something.]

Thanks for ruining my bed.

[But his tone was surprisingly light, more teasing than accusing.]

[The way that Kavinsky shivers, the sound that he makes- he almost lets him catch his mouth, but teases him just a little instead. He's still a little bit jealous, if he's honest.

And Gansey is sure that the boys know about K and Gansey, but there's something different about having an audience. He is a little bit proper, which he'd expected to push the other boy away at first. But Kavinsky has been accommodating and honestly rather understanding. So he likes their privacy, but also he likes having Kavinsky all to himself for a little while.

He reaches up and cups his face, smiling at him, his expression warm and a little softer than usual.]

I'll drive you home.

[Or well. At least get him to the car. Some place at least a little bit private. But it's not like it would be the first time they'd fooled around in the Camaro. No part of that car was made for comfort, but it was easy to forget that when Kavinsky wanted to make him feel good. He would take him home, of course- it just might be slightly delayed, depending on how handsy the other boy was feeling.]

Just a couple days. I almost wish I could take you with me.

[The words murmured low, a wistful sigh between them. The sort of fondness that felt like more than what they were supposed to be. But it felt impossible to try and pretend now that he knew better.]

hey
got ur # from a friend

he said u can get p much anything
true/false?

[Really, Elijah is just glad that Kavinsky is okay. Even if it means that he knows what he is on so many layers, he'd rather have that than have the boy get hurt, have to face him, have to face Skov and the others and tell them it was his fault. So as exposed and naked as he feels-- he knows it's not the worst way this night could have gone.

There's something about the way that Kavinsky stares at him. He looks at the scars, sure, but largely his attention seems to be on his tattoos, the ink- dreams- on his skin. He's not looking at him like he's- less. Like he might be different from the boy that had fallen asleep in his bed, but not in a way that means scorn or rejection. The very thought of it- that K might know and not hate him for it makes his throat feel tight, his heart race unevenly.

There was a reason he'd transferred after the surgery. So far away that no one knew who he was. A boy's academy so no one would question it. It had been a mess to get all his documents in order, but his father had lawyers for things like that. They handled the court orders, and the polite and not-so-polite requests to update his name and gender on all the records that Aglionby had needed. Just a boy, just another rich asshole.

He takes the tee-shirt, murmuring a quiet thanks as he does, rubbing his fingers against the soft fabric for a moment and then awkwardly pulling it on over his head. He wants to curl up in a ball, or maybe curl up in K's lap, but he tries to look like he's okay, even if he isn't. He feels small standing there in a tee-shirt and boxers in the ruins of K's room, his heart racing.]

You needed a bigger bed anyway- this just gives you an excuse.

[It's clearly supposed to be a joke, or maybe a vague sort of flirtation, but his voice doesn't quite carry it. Uneasy, unsure, and he swallows awkwardly. There's an I'm sorry there between the words, but Elijah doesn't know how to say it outloud when he already feels so undone.]

This is why I don't sleep.

[His voice turning softer, but more honest as he says it with a sigh, rubbing a hand through his sleep-messy hair. Which is clearly an excellent solution to the problem. The fear and the sleeplessness making his dreams more prone to horrors when he finally gives in, making him less able to control what happens to his dreams when he wakes. But he was alone with his dreams, unable to control them, and he didn't know how to handle it any better.]

I'll just have to get a king, then.

[As big a fucking bed as possible. He managed a little smile. He wasn't upset about the bed or the mess. He was glad they were both in one piece. Things could have ended disastrously. They could have burned to death or been murdered or any other number of terrible things.

He wanted to reach out and touch Elijah, to reassure him, but he wasn't sure if he should. Normally, he never cared about invading someone else's space, but- Elijah was different. Not just because of the dreams but because he mattered to Kavinsky.]

I can help. You don't have to be afraid.

[And he knew what it was like to be afraid to sleep, to worry about what horrors you were going to pull with you. It'd been years and years since he'd really had to worry, but things still happened from time to time, even now. There was a reason he kept a gun close by, and it wasn't just because he worried about burglars or other nefarious situations.

But it wasn't healthy to not sleep and it wasn't like avoiding it had ever done any good. Things were just worse when you did sleep.]

[He sort of was a boring asshole. He just- he wasn't nearly as full of himself as he seemed. As people chose to believe about him.

Gansey shivered a little at the way that Kavinsky's thumbs stroked against his hips. It was strangely intimate, but he leans into his hands, doesn't pull away even if he probably should. But he liked the way that the other boy leaned into his touch, warm against him, if not as heated as when they'd kissed. He made him feel like the recklessness in his veins wasn't really a bad idea.

Gansey knew what it was like to be hard on yourself, to seem like you were the last person on earth in need of praise. He flushes a little when K tells him he has a great mouth and beautiful eyes.]

Does that.. are you saying you might want to kiss me again?

[There's a bit of a glint in his hazel eyes as he looks up at Kavinsky, a touch of invitation to the words. Because he wants to. Normally Gansey isn't a boy that gives into things just because he wants to, that allows himself to be driven by wild desires. But-- he doesn't know. This isn't a wild party, it's just the two of them. And he's so lonely, unable to say that to either of his friends. And Kavinsky is here with him, warm and beautiful and captivating.

Hardly the first time he's noticed. Maybe not even the first time he's thought about him- kissing him, or maybe more. He hadn't thought about what he wanted when he'd asked him to come over, but the idea of spending the night making out with Joseph Kavinsky wasn't actually a bad thought at all. He wonders if he'd stay the night, if he'd dare to ask.]

You should. Big enough to fit everyone.

[K smiles, and Elijah manages to echo it. He wants to reach out and touch him, wants to reassure himself that the other boy is still here, still breathing and real and alive, but he doesn't want to imply that he needs it. So he resists the urge.

At least until Kavinsky says that he can help, that Eli doesn't have to be afraid- like he knows anyway. Like he doesn't judge him for it. His heartbeat feels erratic against his ribs, and he looks him over, a little bit flushed as he scrubs a hand over his face. Fuck. Fuck everything.]

I don't have to be afraid.. about the dreams, or- everything?

[It's a soft question, saying the thing he can't quite bring himself to put into words. He thinks it's maybe okay, though. Kavinsky isn't acting like he's an imposter, like he'd lied to him by acting like he's a boy. But he just- he needs to know.

Interestingly, even down to his boxers, Elijah's silhouette is still more masculine; the soft plaid fabric doesn't sit entirely flat against his body. It looks like there's something in his pants, anyway. And there is, but it's made of soft silicone. He'd figured out pretty early on that cis guys were way too interested in other guys' dicks to not have something in his jeans.

And well, he likes the feel of it.]

Good.

[He smiled, not looking away from Gansey's eyes. Lynch might have been good at uncomfortable silences but he wasn't the only one who'd mastered the art of long eye contact. Except Kavinsky wasn't doing it to make Gansey uncomfortable. It was just- he had lovely eyes and eye contact was intimate.

There might not have been a single part of the Camaro that had been made for comfort, but Kavinsky could easily make Gansey forget all about that when it was just the two of them together.]

Who says you can't take me with you?

[He was teasing but also...what serious, real, valid reasons did Gansey have for not being able to take Kavinsky with him? ...Besides all of the ones he could think of off the top of his head.]

absolutely true
i can get you whatever your heart desires

what can i do for you?

[Kavinsky laughed, warm and delighted. He wasn't really the kind of person to just kiss someone once. Usually, there was a lot more involved after the floodgates had been opened. But if you'd told him a few months ago that he'd be standing here, this close to Gansey, about to kiss him again, he never would have believed it. Gansey had been- not his worst enemy, but he'd viewed him as competition, for sure.]

Yeah, Sherlock, I'm saying I want to kiss you again.

[And so he did, leaning in and pressing their mouths together. It was almost sweet- sweeter than he would have kissed if they'd been at a party or around other people. It was easier to feel like he didn't have to posture as much when he was alone with someone.]

The boys would like that.

[Kavinsky would like that. He liked having his boys close, not just because he was greedy but because he was lonely.

Stepping closer, he reached out to rest a hand on Elijah's shoulder, gentle but firm, thumb brushing back and forth for a moment.]

Everything. I can help with your dreams. And you're- [Fuck, how did he put this. He wasn't good with words sometimes, but actions didn't always solve all the problems.] -you're safe here.

[It wasn't quite what he was trying to go for, but it was true all the same. He couldn't say he didn't think of Elijah differently now, but it had more to do with the dream things than anything else. He couldn't get over the idea that Elijah was magic.]

I won't tell the other guys. [He added, more quietly. He didn't out people, especially not people he cared about. It was up to the individual what they wanted to share about themselves, in his opinion.]

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Page 5 of 18

Open RP Post

Yeeee

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dreamer in the dream pack

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drugs and boys and other things;

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