[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.]
no subject
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.]