[He let Kavinsky push away the tears that wet his lashes, but then softly, sweetly, brushed his fingertips against his eyelids, like he could keep him from tears ever again. Ronan didn't really think that he was capable of it... but god, he wanted to be. He'd never really managed to be that for someone: the thing that chased away the bad dreams. But if Kavinsky was his dream, and for all that Ronan hadn't meant to ask for him, he was probably still the most intentional of his dreams like this. He couldn't help feeling responsible for him, as much as he'd wanted him before, it still made him feel-- protective, in a way that he hadn't before.
But he laughs softly at the question, grinning.]
Never.
[It was maybe not the literal truth, but it was the truth of his heart. He never wanted to take things slowly, not if he could avoid it. Especially not this, not with Kavinsky, whose heart had always raced as fast as Ronan's. All or nothing was a language they both spoke; it was why the idea of wanting him had been so fraught. Because Ronan didn't do anything by half measures- he couldn't just have a little bit of a crush on Kavinsky or something. If he cared he gave all of himself, and back then he'd been dumb and oblivious and scared.
Ronan curled one hand in Kavinsky's shirt, and he kissed him hard; eager and desperate, with a simmering hunger, a desire that he couldn't hide in how he touched him. He doesn't want to take it slow. He will if Kavinsky wants to, of course, but Ronan- he aches for him, for this. He's had so much want and so many dreams and nowhere to put them until Lindenmere had taken them and spun them into something as real as he was. His other hand slid down Kavinsky's body, curling low against his waist.
He wasn't quite groping his ass, but it was clear that the temptation was there. Instead he just moaned softly against Kavinsky's mouth, his blue eyes damp and so he closed them tight, just feeling this, clinging to him like he needed him more than he could say in words.]
no subject
But he laughs softly at the question, grinning.]
Never.
[It was maybe not the literal truth, but it was the truth of his heart. He never wanted to take things slowly, not if he could avoid it. Especially not this, not with Kavinsky, whose heart had always raced as fast as Ronan's. All or nothing was a language they both spoke; it was why the idea of wanting him had been so fraught. Because Ronan didn't do anything by half measures- he couldn't just have a little bit of a crush on Kavinsky or something. If he cared he gave all of himself, and back then he'd been dumb and oblivious and scared.
Ronan curled one hand in Kavinsky's shirt, and he kissed him hard; eager and desperate, with a simmering hunger, a desire that he couldn't hide in how he touched him. He doesn't want to take it slow. He will if Kavinsky wants to, of course, but Ronan- he aches for him, for this. He's had so much want and so many dreams and nowhere to put them until Lindenmere had taken them and spun them into something as real as he was. His other hand slid down Kavinsky's body, curling low against his waist.
He wasn't quite groping his ass, but it was clear that the temptation was there. Instead he just moaned softly against Kavinsky's mouth, his blue eyes damp and so he closed them tight, just feeling this, clinging to him like he needed him more than he could say in words.]