[Elijah had never been good at this part. He tucked his tail and ran, pushed people away, had never known how to let his walls down without feeling vulnerable and exposed, which just made him lash out. But it was-- he didn't know. He'd already exposed himself, already given away all of his secrets, from the fact that he wanted him to what he was, the fact that he was a boy made of dreams. And Elijah had always jumped into anything worth doing without hesitation. He got along with Kavinsky and the dreampack because they were all boys that believed that life began above the speed limit.
He'd saved his life, kissed him where anyone could see, desperate and miserably scared. What words could be more vulnerable than that?
Kavinsky kisses him, gentle and sweet, and Elijah leans into it. Tender and loving, affectionate in a way he didn't often allow himself to show. He was sharp as a sword, but he had a beating heart. He was just always afraid to show it, because he knew what the world was like, because it was hard to let his walls down enough to show someone that he could be soft, too.
But he wants to. He's trying. He's curling his fingers at the back of Kavinsky's neck, pulling him in close, a low hum of something like contentment that he breathes into the kiss, into the moment, into the dream. He isn't a dreamer, but he can still walk in them, dreams can still take the things he wears on his skin- like love-love-love-- as true as his heartbeat.]
I love you too. I'll keep you safe from your nightmares. You don't-- you don't have to be alone.
[He flushes a little, unsure if he's more embarrassed from saying it or because of how much he means it.]
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He'd saved his life, kissed him where anyone could see, desperate and miserably scared. What words could be more vulnerable than that?
Kavinsky kisses him, gentle and sweet, and Elijah leans into it. Tender and loving, affectionate in a way he didn't often allow himself to show. He was sharp as a sword, but he had a beating heart. He was just always afraid to show it, because he knew what the world was like, because it was hard to let his walls down enough to show someone that he could be soft, too.
But he wants to. He's trying. He's curling his fingers at the back of Kavinsky's neck, pulling him in close, a low hum of something like contentment that he breathes into the kiss, into the moment, into the dream. He isn't a dreamer, but he can still walk in them, dreams can still take the things he wears on his skin- like love-love-love-- as true as his heartbeat.]
I love you too. I'll keep you safe from your nightmares. You don't-- you don't have to be alone.
[He flushes a little, unsure if he's more embarrassed from saying it or because of how much he means it.]