burnyoudown | Open RP Post

Entry tags:

ic: open post

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!

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

[Kavinsky died on the 4th of July.

Ronan didn't know how to save him, but then he didn't even know how to save himself, how to stop dying. It feels ugly, but Kavinsky's death is part of what saves him. The other half is this: Declan, with his things mostly moved out of his dorm room, destined for a townhouse in DC that didn't feel far enough away for them to look each other in the face.

Pleasant goodbyes weren't what Lynch boys were made of.

So they fight, of course, because they're breathing, because they don't know how else to say it. Declan grabs him by his jacket, Ronan hits him, his brother curses, spitting blood into gravel. He actually snarls- like something wounded, like a creature that lashes out, hurts because it's hurting. Something ugly in Ronan thrills at the feeling.

Don't you get it, a question hurled like bullets. And Declan pulls out Ronan's ribs so easily he knows his brother could have done it all along. Because Matthew is one of his. Always has been. And dying- it's a luxury he can't afford. He didn't realize how close he'd been to wanting it, until it was no longer an option. He exhales in a uneasy gasp, shrugs it off like he isn't bleeding from the words. Bitter words of how Ronan had dreamed himself a better brother, and it's hard to blame him, for once.

He goes back to the Barns.
He does not dream.

It starts with Adam, over headlights and tarot cards- the Devil. And he exhales a breath rich with guilt, so thick with memories he can taste it. And Ronan finds himself staring at dark eyes and white sunglasses. He shudders with shame under Adam's blue eyes, tries to laugh it off. He asks himself if he's dreaming, and he isn't.

It gets worse after that-- or maybe better. Ronan isn't sure anymore. Gansey died and came back. Cabeswater died and Ronan hasn't figured that out yet. Death seems less than it did before. He can smell Kavinsky's cologne and the slow curl of the weed he smoked in the car with him when he races Jiang. When his dreams start to crumble he knows it isn't his hands that put them back together.

Ronan doesn't just pull things from his dreams. Sometimes his dreams are a door, a space where living and dying are almost the same thing. It's someone else's fingers that put the green pills on his tongue, passes him the beer he uses to drink it down. Maybe it isn't the only thing he takes -- he stops checking. It feels like a summer he can't forget and can't fix. He told Blue and Gansey about the Camaro but he didn't go with them. He couldn't stand to see that place without Kavinsky there.

Adam checks in on him, but Ronan knows it wont last. Another month or two, he guesses. He's leaving for Harvard, because of course he is: he always has been, in his heart. There was always something he wanted more than magic.

Ronan sleeps, but he doesn't dream. But he still feels trapped when he wakes. It takes him long minutes to identify it as touch, hands on his skin, like the weight of a boy that doesn't eat enough. Like the ghost of a boy that he loved.]

[Kavinsky had always been fire. He'd been bright and burning and full of so much life no matter how poorly he'd handled it all. Just like a fire, it was hard to snuff out his embers entirely. He'd died on a ley line and now he was something else, something not living but not fully dead, either. He could move on; he'd probably see Prokopenko again. The real one. The one who'd died. But he didn't want to move on. He had unfinished business.

It went by the name of Ronan Lynch.

Kavinsky was cool to the touch. Of course, he was; it wasn't like he was going to get any warmer. His flame was burning low but it was still there. He was still there. It didn't take as much effort as he'd thought it would to touch and interact with things. Less effort than dreaming. Not that he could do that anymore. It was weird. He didn't really like it. He missed having the world at his fingertips, doing whatever he pleased, dreaming whatever he wanted.

But what he wanted more than anything else was Ronan. So, K got into his room. That took less effort than it would have before, too. He didn't have to worry about getting lost or picking locks. He was just there because he wanted to be. It was easy and yet-

He sat astride Ronan's thighs, leaning forward, hands skating down his arms. Ronan was warm- so warm. Kavinsky looked exactly like he had before he'd died- eyes dark and hungry, lips full and equally hungry. He leaned down closer, necklace brushing Ronan's skin before his lips did, mouth ghosting over his neck.]

Lynch.

[Kavinsky might have been cool to the touch, but the feel of him still made Ronan burn. Maybe it was the warmth of Virginia summer nights in early August, maybe it was that even dead, K still made his skin feel like embers strung into the shape of a boy. Maybe it was just the fact that even not quite dead and not quite alive, the other boy still burned into his body, into his heart.

He blinked his eyes, those blues with heavy lashes slowly glancing up to find the specter pressed on top of him. The gold necklace was cold on his skin and he whined softly in his throat as he gazed into those dark eyes, hungry, like the other boy might devour him whole. He shuddered with the feel of ghost-metal, but he doesn't flinch, doesn't push him away.

He gasps, his shoulders shuddering at the way that he says his name, like it's breaking some sort of spell. Ronan looks at him, somewhere between horrified and entranced- like an addiction, like something worse than the green pills. Kavinsky's mouth on his neck, lips just shy of his pulse, and he looks into his eyes, body flushed against crisp sheets.

He isn't pulling away, doesn't push K away, or try to shift his spectral form off of him. It's almost like he likes the weight, likes the way that he's almost pinned to the mattress.

Either because he's just pulling from sleep, or for a hundred other, worse reasons, Ronan seems raw, undone. He's open and affected, and his want is vibrant and hot and like it would be easy for K to ruin him. But then maybe after all the months of guilt and shame and the myriad hurts he doesn't say, maybe he needs to be ruined a little.]

--I'm not dreaming.

[The words unsteady, his heart erratic, Ronan watching him like he thinks whatever this is might evaporate. And then something seems to click and he looks at him, all heat and tenderness.]

...I haven't been dreaming, have I?

Fuck no. I was waiting for you to figure it out but you were taking too long.

[And sometimes, Kavinsky wasn't good with patience. He was dead though, what did he have to worry about when it came to time? Lynch was the one getting older, not him. Lynch was the one ever in danger of shuffling off the mortal coil. K didn't want him to though- he might have been angry and bitter and upset but he still didn't want to see Lynch dead. Despite having been used. Despite having killed himself because of the other dreamer- sure, he was pissed about those things, but there was a certain peace in being a ghost, too.

He didn't have to worry about the next time he was going to get high or what he was doing with his future or the newest insult people would sling his way. He didn't have to worry about anything anymore except getting what he wanted.]

Have you dreamt about me?

[There was something almost endearing about it if it was true, something that was almost enough to temper Kavinsky's bitterness.]

Before or after I died?

[He wanted to kiss Ronan, he really did. But he wanted to hurt him, too. But- he was torn, conflicted. Once upon a time, there hadn't been anything he'd wanted more than to curl up next to Ronan and rest his head on his chest and- but that had been before. There wasn't a world that would let him be with Ronan the way he wanted to, not anymore.]

I'm sorry. I guess I-- I'm always figuring shit out too late, aren't I?

[His words catch, choke in his throat. And if this had been before Kavinsky died, he probably would have laughed about it, said something vicious to cover it over. He doesn't. If not for K's weight against him, he probably would have sagged under the weight of the guilt. But somehow, being so close like this made it impossible for the feeling to settle on his skin.

He nods at the question, his face flushed, a little awkward as he breathes it into the air.]

Both. I guess.. probably more after. But I dreamt about you when you were alive, too.

[He notably doesn't mention what those dreams were about, but it's also not hard to figure out, either. The way his skin warms and his blue eyes dip. And there's a moment where he doesn't meet Kavinsky's dark gaze until he can't fight it anymore, can't help it from the proximity.

Ronan doesn't know what he wants anymore. Was there anything worse than realizing you wanted someone too late to stop pulling away, stop being scared of what that meant? Knowing that what happened to them was your fault in the ways that mattered? If not for Matthew he doesn't know if he'd have made it through the year-- but he supposes that's why Declan told him. The cruelest of kindness.]

You should have told me you were a ghost sooner, asshole.

[That felt safer, like something normal. He doesn't really plan on wrapping his arms around K's chest, clinging to his body that isn't flesh, the touch of him that's something other than warmth, not quite solid. Ronan presses his face into his neck, cheeks wet with hot tears. He doesn't make a sound, probably hasn't since Kavinsky died. It's not like he had anyone he thought would understand.]

Edited ("anymorer" is bad and needed to go) 2022-04-27 04:40 (UTC)

[He honestly didn't expect Ronan to apologize to him, not for anything. So hearing I'm sorry caught him by surprise. The emotion flickered through his eyes, momentary and then it was gone. Always figuring shit out too late- did that mean- Ronan had dreamt about him, but that wasn't the revelation Kavinsky was having.

He took a deep breath, held it for a moment- but while he was trying to figure out how he felt about this, Ronan was holding onto him. And Kavinsky wasn't oblivious to his tears. He sighed; how was he supposed to stay angry when Ronan was crying? He slid a hand up, cupping the back of Ronan's head, fingers gentle and cool against his skin. He'd been expecting things to go a lot differently, he hadn't thought-]

I figured you'd be a bitch about it.

[There wasn't nearly as much bite to his tone as there could have been. He didn't mean this sort of reaction right now, either. He'd thought- maybe Ronan would try to get rid of him or something if he knew he was still around as a ghost. Not that K knew how someone would even go about doing that, but...

He let himself settle against Ronan as comfortably as he could, face tucked to his shoulder. If he'd still had a pulse his heart would have been racing, being this close to the boy he'd wanted for so long.]

So what'd you figure out since I died?

[He needed to know. He needed to know exactly why Ronan was crying. He hadn't thought anyone would shed tears over his death, maybe not even his boys. This was...it made him feel a little triumphant, as petty as it was.]

[He shivers, leans into the cool touch of his fingers. It's comforting, honestly, the way he's cool when Ronan feels almost feverish, either from emotions or the night air, or that he'd always had an ember heart, too. His eyelashes flutter and he lets his head lean into his fingers, trusting. He laughs when Kavinsky says he thought he'd be a bitch about it. Because he's wrong, but he also can't blame him for the assumption given how he'd treated him.]

Fuck you. One of my best-friends is also a ghost, you know. It's great; can't bitch when I throw him out a window if he's already dead.

[There's a slight touch of wry humor in how he says it, like he might be joking. It's true, of course, but- the words aren't sharp. Not like Ronan isn't sharp, but like he isn't sharp with Kavinsky, or at least not now, like this. When Ronan's hands betray him as surely as his tears, fingers clinging to him like he's afraid of losing him again. He closes his eyes and just leans into him, not kissing, but- there's the tension of it in the air, of things lost between them, dreams and promises unkept.

Ronan is simultaneously hurt and ecstatic with Kavinsky in his arms, overwhelmed and he just- he still wants him, wants those fingertips on the ink of his tattoo. But the ghost of his bloody heart asks that question and Ronan just sighs into the air instead.]

That I'm a goddamn mess? [He smiles thinly, but doesn't stick to the deflection.] I don't know how to say this, how to-- I just fucking--

[He quiets for a moment, catches his breath. He's wounded, and a year later he's still bleeding.]

I figured out that.. I think I'm in love with you, okay?

[He swallows, hides his face in K's shoulder like that will shelter him from what he says. It doesn't, of course. The horror has been this hole in his chest, a chill in the marrow of his bones, eating him alive. He wants to say something else, but he doesn't know what. So he just-- he holds him. Probably too tight, if he was flesh and bone, Ronan's breath coming too fast, heart racing, and it's still awful and it's still overwhelming and he feels like he's choking on the empty space where they'd been supposed to make something together.

His eyes are still damp, but he's trying not to cry. Ronan didn't like to think of himself as the sort of boy prone to tears. Kavinsky might also notice the phrasing: I'm in love with you. He doesn't say was. He hadn't ever put an end date on it just because K died. How could he when he'd been dead when Ronan realized how he felt? And now he's here, and- he doesn't know what this means.]

I was scared, K. I wanted so much more than I thought I could ever have, than I was allowed to want, and so I was an asshole and I pushed you away. But I thought-- I thought that we'd go back to how things were, how they always were with us. I ghost you and we yell and we hit each other, but we never-- [His voice breaks and Ronan doesn't try to hide how he shakes, his voice dropping to a fragile murmur, guilt and shame, always. They felt thicker than blood, most days.

And he still doesn't know how to say the complicated piece of it. Something about how they'd both been dying, but Kavinsky kept him alive, too. Ronan just hadn't known how to return the favor. He hadn't understood he was supposed to, hadn't seen the steps they'd been dancing until too late. He thinks Jiang knows that the real reason Ronan still races with him is that he felt like the only part of Kavinsky that was still alive.]

--you weren't supposed to leave me for real, you dick.

[Normally this would all be anger and violence, but he's spent so much of it.]

[He exhaled. He didn't really need to breathe, but there was that saying about old habits and it was true.]

It's a little fucking late, man.

[He'd come back to Ronan having a ghost for a friend at a future date, to be determined. He filed the information away though, and there was something about not being the only one that made him feel less lonely and a little jealous at the same time. He should've figured that if he'd come back as a ghost there was nothing stopping other people from doing the same thing, but-

More important than that, Ronan had just said he thought he loved him. If he'd been alive, Kavinsky would have gone through a series of reactions. A quickened pulse, a lump in his throat, fuck, maybe even butterflies in his stomach. It had been all he'd ever wanted- was still all he wanted.]

You're the one who's a dick.

[He could have elaborated, gone into all the reasons why, but he was pretty sure they both knew why. He didn't need to dig into the wound and make it worse. Instead, he smoothed his fingers over Ronan's cheeks, soft and gentle.]

You can't get rid of me that easily.

[Because here he still was, despite the odds.]

And-

[He hesitated. It wasn't easy to say no matter how true it was. Words were hard, sometimes, depending on what was being talked about. He'd never been good at expressing his feelings verbally.]

-I love you, too.

[Ronan was going to a party with Kavinsky.

It was really something of a marvel that Ronan had agreed, if they were being honest. But it had been one of his bad night, where he couldn't stand the way that Gansey was looking at him like he was already expecting Ronan to do something that he would disapprove of. So he'd retreated to his room, but it felt like a cage more than anything. Maybe it was the humidity, the way that the Henrietta air churned like it was waiting for a thunderstorm. Maybe it was the after effects from when he'd woken that afternoon with his dreams in his hands.

His phone had chimed with a text notification, and he'd had to force himself to get a cooked hotdog from the fridge to feed to Chainsaw, just to keep himself from answering too quickly. He didn't want to come across as desperate; though whether to himself or Kavinsky was a question he remained pointedly disinterested in. So he slowly fed her, as she made sounds loud enough to bother the dead, and only afterwards flicked the screen up to see what Kavinsky had sent him this time.

It was an invitation to a party that Ronan would normally have refused out of hand. He either went to Kavinsky's parties or he went to an Aglionby party.
He did not go to an Aglionby party with Kavinsky.

But he needed to get out of Monmouth, get out of his head, and it had been a while since he'd let Kavinsky lure him out for something more than their usual Friday night races. The text he sent back was if you race me first, which was honestly about as close to just saying yes as Ronan Lynch was capable of.

He does not tell Gansey where he's going.

He gets in his car, and he meets up with Kavinsky, and they race; Ronan wins. He feels more human and more alive than he has in days. He assumes that they're going straight to the party, but instead they end up stopping at the Deering General Store, which is quite possibly one of the seediest places that Ronan has ever laid eyes on. It's worse than Nino's. But he parks the BMW and K gets out of the sleek white Mitsubishi -- which still seems the most eye-catching of all the vehicles in the parking lot to Ronan. He follows the other boy, complaining almost good-naturedly about the side-trip.

Don't worry, I'll make it up to you, Kavinsky says with a filthy sort of grin, but Ronan doesn't think much of the innuendo.

What he does think about, following along while K hands off packets of pills and powders, is that he doesn't think K had considered that he might actually say yes. This side-trip, all Kavinsky's business-dealings, was not the sort of thing that he brought Ronan along to. He'd made plans, assuming Ronan wouldn't show, because Ronan never showed to an invitation that was come somewhere with me. Without quite knowing why, Ronan couldn't help feeling guilty about the realization.

When K seems to have finished, he expects that they'll head back to the parking lot, but instead Ronan finds himself being herded back towards the public bathrooms. He clearly doesn't quite get it, but he isn't protesting, either. He follows, even lets Kavinsky push him up against the door for a moment and tries to pretend that his breath doesn't catch at the proximity, that his face doesn't flush, that he doesn't almost want-- want what?

He doesn't know, and the door swings inward under his weight, letting him regain some space, before Ronan has to risk figuring it out.]

[Ronan should feel guilty, in Kavinsky's opinion. He liked to think that both of their lives would be vastly improved if they spent more time together, for various reasons.

It was different having Ronan along for this little business detour, but the sort of different he could get used to. He wasn't even concerned about Ronan snitching; it wasn't like there weren't rumors everywhere. But Kavinsky was untouchable. Ronan, on the other hand- K couldn't wait to get his hands on him.

He grinned as he followed Ronan into the bathroom, barely glancing around to take stock of their surroundings before returning his full attention to the other boy. He'd meant what he said about making it up to Ronan. Circling around him, Kavinsky pushed him back against the door again, reaching around him to engage the lock. He wasn't worried about someone trying to force the door open, but he had a feeling it'd be a bit of a peace of mind for Ronan.

He traced his fingers along Ronan's jaw, wasting no time dropping his other hand to the front of his pants, squeezing firmly. He half expected Ronan to push him away or something- he wouldn't have been surprised, just disappointed.]

You've been so patient, sweetheart; you deserve a reward.

[Ronan's pulse was racing already, just from the way that Kavinsky was looking at him, the way that he circled around him. His focus on him in a way that was sharp and intent, and Ronan felt rather like the other boy was going to eat him alive. On another night he'd have pulled away and told him to stop fucking around, but tonight he doesn't.

There's a thrill to it, something on the air, something in the way that K looks at him like a promise.

Ronan was oblivious sometimes, but he wasn't actually stupid, unless it came to his own emotions. So when Kavinsky presses him back up against the door and turns the lock with that heavy clack as the deadbolt engages, he has a vague idea of the direction that this is going. He's flushed, somewhere between embarrassment and arousal, because on the one hand, Kavinsky is touching him, and on the other Ronan has never done anything like this before. Dreamed about it, sure, but he was in imminent danger of having Kavinsky pull apart all of his cool disinterest.

His blue eyes watch Kavinsky, helplessly attentive when they're this close and he's tracing fingers against Ronan's jaw like a tease. And then his other hand squeezes against the front of his jeans, and Ronan gasps- vocal and helpless, blue eyes wide at the way that his fingers grope against him. He's not hard yet, but there's already stirrings of interest -- and given that he's a teenager, given that it's fucking Kavinsky's fingers against him, it probably wont take long to get him there. He should have pushed him away, but his blood was already burning. He wanted this, even if he probably never would have figured that out on his own, wouldn't have been able to name it if Kavinsky wasn't here in his face with his hand on his dick.

He shivers at the words, hips twitching toward his touch despite himself. There's something about the soft, almost alluring tone, the way that he calls him sweetheart. For the first time it sounds like an endearment instead of an insult, but memory tells him that it sounds the same as it always has. But Ronan decides that's a puzzle for when he can think straight.]

Fuck, K. You don't have to. I-- [Ronan doesn't know what to say. If you didn't know Ronan, it might sound like a protest. But Ronan had never been shy about saying no before; it was yes that he didn't know how to say. And there was a big difference between telling Kavinsky that he didn't have to and saying that Ronan didn't want him to, or telling him to stop, and he pointedly isn't doing either. He's never done this, and he doesn't know what to say. And so instead of the words that he can't quite form, he ends up with a question:]

Am I dreaming?

[Kavinsky huffed out a soft laugh. He was very aware of the fact that he didn't have to do anything. He'd wanted something like this for weeks, the chance to get Ronan alone, to get his hands and mouth on him.]

I know I don't have to. I want to.

[He hardly did anything he didn't want to, especially not here in Henrietta, out from under his father's thumb. He was indulgent, hedonistic. What he wanted, he did or took. He had almost everything. Except for Ronan. Ronan was the prize, the treasure, the thing that illuded him the most. He wouldn't have been able to put it into words how much he wanted Ronan, so he wasn't going to try. He would express himself through actions.

Pressing down with the heel of his palm, he leaned in and kissed Ronan's neck, lips ghosting over his skin. He nipped at his ear, far more gentle than he would've liked, but he didn't want Ronan to spook.]

Do you dream about me often?

[His voice was low and husky. He'd seen the opportunity and pounced on it. Ronan asking if he was dreaming meant this was either a nightmare or something good that he'd had a similar dream about before. Kavinsky was going to assume it was something positive and feel flattered.]

I've dreamed about you before.

...Oh.

[It was maybe not the most glowing of approvals, but it was an awkward sort of acceptance. He knew he should be arguing, but he couldn't think of the words or the reasons. His skin crackled with want, and when was the last time that he'd felt like he knew what he wanted? This felt too precious to push away. So he doesn't, even if he knows that it's going to tip things, change things between them. That he'll think of this every time Kavinsky smiles that shark smile.

But K presses down with the heel of his palm, and the friction spikes heat into him, has his hips jerking so that his cock presses back into the other boy's hand. Fuck. He's fucked. He doesn't care. He keens softly, almost a whimper as K kisses against his neck, trailing against skin to nip at his ear, and it feels like a tease.]

I-- sometimes.

[He doesn't know why he answers. Maybe it's the way that Kavinsky's voice is silken, like liquid sex as he all but purrs the question against his ear. Maybe it's the way that it almost feels like a dream, and K hasn't entirely said that it isn't. Maybe it's that he's hard and turned on and Kavinsky is still touching him through his jeans. Ronan's a virgin and he can't help how he reacts, easy and helpless and wanton.]

What do you.. what's it like, when you dream about me?

[He had an idea, of course, what Kavinsky might dream about him, but he wanted to hear it. He shifts a little, and slowly curls his fingers in his shirt, and softly tugs him in a little bit closer, breathless and heated as he looks into K's dark eyes.]

I was going to take my jacket off, but if I let it touch the floor in here I'd have to burn it.

[Sometimes. It was a better answer than no or anything else Kavinsky might have expected. Ronan Lynch dreamed about him; it was almost more than he could have hoped for.

Smiling, confident and in control, he started working on getting Ronan's pants open. He wasn't in a rush; his motions were almost lazy, slow. He should be given a medal for not rushing through it just to get his hands in Ronan's pants.]

Usually, we're fucking. You love it, and fuck, the sounds you make.

[You love me. It was easy to talk about the filthy sex dreams he had, instead of the soft ones. The ones where he slept curled up in Ronan's arms and the dream was so vivid he could feel Ronan's body heat on his skin. Those dreams were worse because when he woke up alone, reality paled in comparison and he wanted to sleep forever so he could dream of Ronan holding him.

A thrill coursed through him when Ronan tugged him closer, and gladly, Kavinsky stepped in, not looking away from Ronan's eyes.]

What're your dreams like?

[He was genuinely curious; what happened in Ronan's dreams about him?

Without even sparing another glance around, he snorted a little, lips curling into a smirk.]

Don't take off anything; this place is filthy.

[Honestly, it was sort of difficult to focus on the conversation, on the words that Kavinsky was saying, what Ronan was supposed to be saying. Because Kavinsky's hand was popping the button to his jeans and then against the zipper, and all Ronan could do was groan. He was hard, aching, and the other boy hadn't even really gotten his hands on him yet. He trembles a little as K talks about what his dreams are like, because while it's mostly what he'd expected, it's still really hot to hear him say it.

His face is flushed, blatantly pink against his cheeks, that bright contrast against his pale skin. He's half-breathless, Kavinsky standing close, fingers in his pants, and they're talking about dreams, which feels almost illicit. It's not the sort of dreaming that matters, but it feels almost like it could be for some reason.]

They're.. messy. Stupid shit.

[He doesn't want to admit that he's never had sex, that he's barely looked at porn, that most of his knowledge about how men have sex comes from what he overhears in the locker room. But it doesn't mean that he doesn't want it. He aches and he longs for it, but it's this shapeless want in his heart, and it makes his dreams less clear and pointed than Kavinsky's.]

There was one where you're leaning over me and you're tracing my tattoo. And you talk to me, saying all sorts of filthy shit. Sometimes you say things in Latin, too. You tell me.. tell me that we're the same. That you know what I want. And then you eat my tattoos. Teeth against my skin, like you could swallow me whole if you wanted. But you- don't. You take it slow, and it doesn't hurt, but I scream anyway.

[His voice is quiet, and hushed. He tells him about his dream like a secret, like it's something embarrassing and almost shameful. Ronan clearly doesn't know that Kavinsky is a dreamer, but his dreams do. Ronan is too oblivious to put the pieces together, but K might catch the hint of it, the weight of you tell me that we're the same. He might also catch that the dream Ronan tells him is obviously a sex dream, but scrambled.

Ronan doesn't tell him all of the dream, the part where he's gone afterwards, like smoke in his fingers. Because that's always been part of his fear: that he can only hold Kavinsky's interest until the other boy gets what he wants (isn't that how the rumors go?). But tonight he was reckless, and the wanting was a better drug than even the fear of rejection. So he's here, against the door of a public bathroom with K's hand in his pants as he moaned, clung to him like he needed this.]

Yeah. Not here, anyway.

[Which almost sounds like a vague hint of a tease- like he might take his clothes off somewhere else.]

[Kavinsky stilled for a moment when Ronan told him what his dreams were like. Obviously, they were some kind of metaphor for sex, but for a change that wasn't the important part. The important part was they were the same and Kavinsky did think he knew what Ronan wanted. Ronan was- alright, not casual right now but a lot more casual than Kavinsky imagined he'd be if he knew K was a dreamer, too.

He was tempted to spill the beans, let the cat out of the bag, etcetera, and so forth, but he was sure that would ruin the mood. And he'd just gotten Ronan's pants open, so ruining the mood really wasn't something he wanted to do right now. Tugging the front of Ronan's underwear down, he wrapped his fingers around his dick. A shiver ran down Kavinsky's spine. While a dick was a dick, this was Ronan.]

I could blow your mind in so many ways. If you let me.

[Maybe Kavinsky wasn't a traditional romantic but he still thought he could sweep Ronan off his feet in his own way. He could treat him like a king, cut his leash to Dick fucking Gansey.]

Come home with me after the party.

[He barely managed to hold back from saying something about how Ronan's clothes would look good on his bedroom floor. He could make all of Ronan's dreams come true and maybe some of his own, too.]

[Ronan didn't know what sort of reaction he was expecting from Kavinsky when he told him what he dreamed about him- maybe for him to tease him, laugh and say something that was a little sharp for comfort, even if it still made Ronan want him. Still feel desired, even if he never talked about that part, let alone admitted to the fact that he liked it.

Kavinsky pulled down the front of his boxer-briefs, wrapping his fingers around Ronan's erection, and he whimpered at the contact. The touch of the other boy's fingers against his cock felt like they burned; so much better than the feel of his own hand in the shower. He says that he can blow his mind, and at the moment he can't even resist how much he wants to let him. He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to Kavinsky's shoulder, the moan on his mouth almost a sob. Right now it was just touch, not even friction, and still the tip of his dick was already slick, beading with precum from how turned on he was.]

I... okay.

[It was cheating, really, asking him when he had his fingers wound around Ronan's dick, had the dreamer pressed to his shoulder and his hands trembling as they clung to Kavinsky. Like the boy with the tattoos that most people thought was a walking threat was already starting to come apart under his hands. He was sensitive, easy to pull reactions from. No one had ever touched him like this and fuck, but he wanted it, he wanted him and as trashy a location as this might be, he couldn't help himself.]

I'll leave in the morning.

[Gansey would worry, he knew. But for once he didn't want to think about how Gansey would feel about what he wanted. He just wanted to feel it. He's been to K's house before, but this feels different. It feels like agreeing to something, like admitting that his dreams are right, that K does know what he wants.]

[Fuck but Ronan was hot. He hardly had to do anything, just exist, and he was hot. And as if that wasn't enough, he agreed to go home with Kavinsky later, like a dream come true. Like something Kavinsky never thought would happen.

He grinned, victorious, to hide the way his heart fluttered in his chest, and kissed Ronan hard.]

You won't regret it.

[It was a promise, not just because Kavinsky was confident in his ability to blow Ronan's mind but because he was invested in this. He didn't want to just fuck Ronan, though that was a long-running fantasy. He was head over heels for the other boy- had been since before he'd discovered he was a dreamer, too. Kavinsky just wasn't sure how to want something without making it sexual. It was easier than admitting there was a soft part of him that wanted romantic things.

He slid his hands to Ronan's hips, holding on to steady himself while he dropped to his knees. The current state of cleanliness of the room didn't matter much to him; his jeans had encountered worse than a bathroom floor. Besides, it wasn't every day he got an opportunity like this. It was more than worth it.

Taking a moment, he admired Ronan's dick, then glanced up with a filthy smirk. Wrapping a hand around the base of it, he swirled his tongue around the head, teasing at first but then slower and more thorough on a second pass. He'd done this before, on more than a few occasions, and normally he'd say he didn't get on his knees for just anyone but the truth was he didn't usually do it for free. Ronan was special though, in so many ways. Kavinsky liked to think they were friends but he wasn't sure the other boy would agree.]

[This wasn't the first time that Kavinsky had kissed Ronan, but somehow it felt different. It felt like a promise, felt like Ronan was wrapped around his finger. But in truth, he probably has been since the first time they'd kissed, or maybe before, maybe ever since the racing and Kavinsky became the only outlet that could take him down on his worst nights.

He knows that K will be good to his word, that he'll ruin Ronan in the best sort of ways. But Ronan is a complicated creature, and sometimes the very things that he wants are the things that he regrets.

But in this moment, it's impossible to regret anything. Not with the way that Kavinsky grips his hips and sinks down to his knees, and Ronan groans just from the promise and the proximity, the filthy smirk on his mouth and Ronan cursed mutedly under his breath, his long eyelashes fluttering over his blue eyes as he watches the other boy. He feels helpless, almost whines at the way that his tongue feels on his cock, like a tease, but also pleasure that burns through him. It's like the rest of the world shuts off, gives him a sort of quiet that's better than the drinking and the hangovers.

He reaches out, fingers shaking, but he catches them against Kavinsky's shoulder, steadying himself, gasping rough and hot.

Ronan didn't know what they were, what this boy was to him when he was under his skin and in his veins. This wasn't friendship, not for him, he didn't really understand the way that K was friends with his boys. Like it was somehow platonically sexual, like the touches didn't change their world. Ronan knew this was going to break him, but with Kavinsky's tongue swirling slow around the head of his cock, all he could do was moan and watch. He was captured by the touch and the feeling, the wet heat of it, the pleasure that had his legs unsteady.

He was pretty sure someone could be banging on the other side of the door and Ronan wouldn't hear them for all the world. Because his world was this: Joseph Kavinsky on his knees and sinful as anything he'd ever seen; like if this was sin, Ronan didn't think he wanted to be pure.]

Oh, fuck... Kavinsky-- please.

[His hand on his shoulder sliding up to brush against his hair, touching more than anything aggressive, he just needed something, needed to feel. Before he'd have probably said something tough-sounding about how he didn't beg, certainly didn't beg for Kavinsky, didn't beg like he didn't know what he was begging for except for more. The words almost punched from his chest like he's forgotten how to breathe, like he needs what K is doing to him more than air.]

You don't have to fill my car with them. Just give me a couple. I wouldn't laugh.

[No one had given him flowers before, probably because most people thought receiving flowers was for girls and that guys needed manlier things. Kavinsky was pretty fond of roses, though. Flowers in general, though he'd never admitted it. Was this an admission right now? Besides, who said roses couldn't be manly? With or without thorns.

Adam's heart fluttered. There was a lump in his throat. He kept having to remind himself that Ronan was choosing both of them, not one over the other, and that meant they were equally important to him. Adam was equal. He didn't usually feel that way. He usually felt like he was less than other people, a fake, a liar. He always worried someone would see right through him and now where he'd come from. But Ronan already knew and he was still standing here saying he wanted him.

He glanced over at Kavinsky, then back at Ronan.]

You are choosing. You're choosing both of us and that still counts.

[Maybe somebody else would have called Ronan greedy but Adam thought- maybe a relationship didn't always have to be just two people. Maybe it could be more. If the three of them didn't tear each other apart, at least.]

I like flowers, too.

[Adam's Henrietta accent crept out into his words; he was feeling a little shy, a little unsure. But he was doing his best to be open and honest about all of this--and accepting. He had a chance with Ronan and he didn't want to lose that.

He glanced at Kavinsky again.]

I'm- I'm okay with this if you are.

[Kavinsky considered it for a moment and then shrugged. Would he get jealous at some point or another? Probably. Would he get over it eventually? Also probably. Was he already wondering if he could lure Adam Parrish into bed with him someday? Most definitely.]

Yeah, sure.

[Maybe that didn't sound as enthusiastic as he intended it to- let him try again. After a second, he added-]

I've wanted Ronan for a long time. [For a lot of reasons, in a lot of different ways. Both sexually and nonsexually.] I'm not just- I can't just walk away.

[He was trying to say that he cared about Ronan too much to just up and leave. He wanted him, a chance at an actual relationship.]

[The truth was, Kavinsky might have played it off cool but emotions ate him alive every day of his life. Outwardly, he was indifferent but inwardly he cared more about his boys, about Ronan, than he was likely to admit. Which wasn't to say that he wasn't capable of engaging in casual sex without catching feelings, because he was, but it was different when it was his pack. Or Ronan. It was always different when it was Ronan and there was no way he could genuinely be casual about anything no matter how flippant he came across.

He took a few breaths to steady himself- not just because he was worked up over the fact that he had his hands and mouth on the other dreamer but because Ronan was going to be spending the night. It sounded stupid put like that but it was- it was very far from stupid. Maybe having Ronan spend the night would help Kavinsky get a foot in the door, so to speak. If Ronan gave him a chance, a real chance, maybe- maybe they could be something. The mere idea was enough to have his stomach in something of a knot. Him, the boy nobody would suspect of being nervous about anything.

Coming back to the moment at hand after a second too long, he made a thoughtful noise, almost a hum, he started steadily jerking Ronan off while sucking on the head of his cock. He briefly thought about pulling back to tell Ronan he could pull on his hair or whatever tickled his fancy, but decided it wasn't worth it. He didn't want to stop what he was doing right now, not any part of it.]

[Ronan's on a video call with Adam up to nearly the last minute before Kavinsky arrives. He hears the Evo's engine, the crunch of tires on gravel, and his heart skips a beat, racing under his ribs. The very fact that Kavinsky is here and that he could touch him if he wants to- it's almost overwhelming.

That's not what his intention is, though. Or at least it's not what he told himself. He'd insisted that it was just supposed to be some time to acclimate to each other again, to exist in each others' space when Ronan could admit that he wanted him, when he'd tried so hard to deny it for months. Convincing himself that he could be just friends with Kavinsky, despite that the way they circled each other never really felt friendly.

Ronan steps out and waits for Kavinsky, leaning in the frame of the door. It's a nice night, just a little chilly with the leaves turning vibrant shades of red and orange. Ronan's cleaned up nice, even if something about the way he holds himself makes him seem disreputable anyway. It's subtle things; freshly shaven, no mud or scuffs on his boots and instead of a tee-shirt he has a black button-down, rolled up to the elbows and unbuttoned at his throat. It's attractively tight in his shoulders and against his biceps. He wears a warm sort of smile, just a little bit unsure as he watched Kavinsky make his way over from the car.

He's also holding three roses- they're multitoned, both red and golden, almost like the blooms are flames on thorned stems. But no, they're just flowers. But they made him think of Kavinsky when he saw them.]

[He didn't know exactly what he was expecting when he pulled up to the Barns. Not from the place itself but from Ronan. Ronan had held him at arm's length for so long and Kavinsky had told himself that was okay, it was whatever, he could live with it. But the truth was, he wanted him desperately.

He certainly wasn't expecting to see Ronan practically dressed up. Not that Kavinsky felt self-conscious in a white tank, designer distressed jeans and hi-top sneakers, but if he'd known- you know? He might've worn something else.]

Is this a date?

[They were the first words out of his mouth as he approached the porch and, by extension, Ronan. Kavinsky couldn't help it- Ronan even had flowers and no one had ever had flowers in Kavinsky's proximity with the intention of giving them to him. Unless, Ronan was expecting someone else, too. K doubted it.]

Shit, man, you should've told me. I would've brought something.

[Wine or something. Not that he was particularly fond of wine but people drank it on dates, right?]

I mean.. sort of? Is it too much? I just wanted-- you. I wanted- fuck, I don't know.

[Ronan's face falls a little, and he bites at his lip. His expression is set into something almost un-Ronan-like: worried, nervous, like this means something and he's scared he's fucked it up already. Maybe he should have told Kavinsky why he wanted to have him over tonight, but he hadn't wanted to have this sort of conversation over the phone.

He takes a breath and tries to steady himself. This was part of why he hadn't really worked out a specific plan. He just-- he hadn't known how this would go. He hadn't been sure he wouldn't fuck it all up, that they wouldn't end up fighting, because if there was one thing they were good at it was pressing each other's buttons. He stands there, awkward, fingers fidgeting with the roses.]

It's fine if you don't want them. It's just what you do when you like someone, right?

[He scrubs his free hand against his shaved head, curling his fingers against the back of his neck, self-soothing when he feels like he's doing everything wrong. Kavinsky had probably not been serious with his line about it being a date, but he also wasn't wrong. Ronan's clearly floundering. Not that he hadn't half-expected Kavinsky to laugh and ask what the fuck was going on, but he also hadn't really had a game plan for that eventuality, either.]

I wanted to make tonight different.

[Kavinsky nearly missed a step coming up the porch stairs. He hadn't thought he'd been right. His brow furrowed and he looked from Ronan's expression to the roses he held.]

No, I want them.

[But it was the gesture of them that he wanted more. He wanted Ronan to like him, to want him, but there was more to it than just that, wasn't there? It couldn't be that simple. Nothing in Kavinky's life was ever simple.

He started to reach for the flowers, then stopped.]

What made you change your mind? I thought you-

[He didn't finish. He'd kind of thought Ronan didn't want to even be friends or only wanted to be very casual friends.]

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 8 of 18

Open RP Post

gimme ghost kavinsky? :3 :3

Hecking yeah!!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

rovinsky trash :eyes:

:3

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Ignore this if it's too late, trying to wrangle my inbox

no subject

poly trash verse ahem ahem XD

no subject

no subject

no subject