[It was that moment that did him in- the one where he was staring at the mark he'd left on Kavinsky's neck, and the other boy caught him at it only to bare his neck a little more. Ronan almost whimpered a little, because it made him want him in a way that felt like something as tangible as Kavinsky's hands on his body.
God, was this what it meant to like someone?
The way that Kavinsky calls him sweetheart feels anything but casual, feels like maybe he wants this as much as Ronan does. It definitely doesn't sound like someone that'll push him away when the night comes to a close, but maybe he's just being optimistic for once in his life. Maybe he just wanted it so badly he didn't want to see the storm clouds this time. But then again, Ronan was always the storm clouds, always the thing that turned everything wrong. But this time -- he didn't know. He wanted to try, at least.
He wanted to leave teeth marks all over Kavinsky so no one could doubt who he belonged to. As much as Ronan was wound around K's fingers, he was a greedy thing. He wanted to carve out pieces of the other boy that could be his, only his. It was why despite Kavinsky's jealousy, Ronan and Gansey could never have been a thing. There was no part of Gansey that would just belong to Ronan, and he'd played a funeral march for those feelings a long time ago. Kavinsky, on the other hand... sometimes it seemed like he was aching for Ronan to give him the chance, like he wanted to make spaces in his life just for Ronan, no matter what the rumors said.
So Ronan races him to the party. But it isn't really a race so much as just a different sort of flirtation: the way that they switch the lead back and forth, but Ronan never pulls too far ahead. He doesn't speed through intersections with the light looming yellow; he waits for him, like the fun isn't in beating him but in having him at his side. He'll pull ahead on those clear straight stretches of Henrietta country road, but he keeps the Mitsubishi in his rearview, and stays close when the Friday night traffic starts to snarl.
But finally he's parking the BMW just behind K's gorgeous Mitsubishi and the sight makes his heart flutter, like it means something. Like he wants it to.]
Hey.
[His voice feels flat to his own ears, but he doesn't know what else to say. There's a terrible part of him that wants to slide his hand into the other boy's, wants to hold his hand like something he was allowed to want, allowed to have. So he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jacket and instead smiles at him, crooked and a little suggestive--]
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God, was this what it meant to like someone?
The way that Kavinsky calls him sweetheart feels anything but casual, feels like maybe he wants this as much as Ronan does. It definitely doesn't sound like someone that'll push him away when the night comes to a close, but maybe he's just being optimistic for once in his life. Maybe he just wanted it so badly he didn't want to see the storm clouds this time. But then again, Ronan was always the storm clouds, always the thing that turned everything wrong. But this time -- he didn't know. He wanted to try, at least.
He wanted to leave teeth marks all over Kavinsky so no one could doubt who he belonged to. As much as Ronan was wound around K's fingers, he was a greedy thing. He wanted to carve out pieces of the other boy that could be his, only his. It was why despite Kavinsky's jealousy, Ronan and Gansey could never have been a thing. There was no part of Gansey that would just belong to Ronan, and he'd played a funeral march for those feelings a long time ago. Kavinsky, on the other hand... sometimes it seemed like he was aching for Ronan to give him the chance, like he wanted to make spaces in his life just for Ronan, no matter what the rumors said.
So Ronan races him to the party. But it isn't really a race so much as just a different sort of flirtation: the way that they switch the lead back and forth, but Ronan never pulls too far ahead. He doesn't speed through intersections with the light looming yellow; he waits for him, like the fun isn't in beating him but in having him at his side. He'll pull ahead on those clear straight stretches of Henrietta country road, but he keeps the Mitsubishi in his rearview, and stays close when the Friday night traffic starts to snarl.
But finally he's parking the BMW just behind K's gorgeous Mitsubishi and the sight makes his heart flutter, like it means something. Like he wants it to.]
Hey.
[His voice feels flat to his own ears, but he doesn't know what else to say. There's a terrible part of him that wants to slide his hand into the other boy's, wants to hold his hand like something he was allowed to want, allowed to have. So he stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jacket and instead smiles at him, crooked and a little suggestive--]
You gonna show me a good time?