[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:]
no subject
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?