[Maybe it was just proof of how fundamentally not-human some part of Ronan was, but he couldn't help finding it... endearing, how Kavinsky struggled at first to remember what having a body with form and boundaries and limitations was like. But then Ronan had always sort of seen him that way -- indestructible, limitless. And they were the same.
But for the immediate moment he just clutches Kavinsky to his chest, emotional and shameless about it. Desperate in the way that he presses them together, skin to skin. His arms wrapping around him, gathering him up and pulling him in as close as he could. It was more tangible, more physical, but there were borders between Ronan // Kavinsky in ways that had seemed much more nebulous when they had been all memory and emotion and tendrils of incomprehensible form. He strokes a hand down along his spine, his breath shaking like he's just- undone, overwhelmed. He wanted to carve a piece of himself into Kavinsky, like a promise they wouldn't lose each other again.]
I'm not gonna leave you. Never again. I wanna-- fuck. When we get out of here, I want you to let me make it up to you. I want to feel you- days, a week, maybe more. I'm not a coward anymore.
[He pulls away just enough that he can press his hand over Kavinsky's heart, so he can steal the boy's hand and kiss his fingers like he should have that summer. It's a clear seduction, invitation, and he doesn't flinch, doesn't flop towards fury. Admittedly, while he's saying as much in words as he can, there's also a lot still in between the lines -- things he'll try and figure out later. Like the fact that he think he might have ruined the world, but somehow that feels less important than the boy in his arms. He wants Kavinsky to fuck him so much he burns with it, and it's not even strictly sexual. He just wants- needs- he wants him in his skin, wants to show him how much he means to him.]
I dreamed of you so many times. But- in my dreams you always hated me.
[It was how he knew this was real; and why he'd managed to never bring him back. Because it always hurt too much and dissolved into nightmares. Who was crueler to Ronan Lynch than himself?]
no subject
[Maybe it was just proof of how fundamentally not-human some part of Ronan was, but he couldn't help finding it... endearing, how Kavinsky struggled at first to remember what having a body with form and boundaries and limitations was like. But then Ronan had always sort of seen him that way -- indestructible, limitless. And they were the same.
But for the immediate moment he just clutches Kavinsky to his chest, emotional and shameless about it. Desperate in the way that he presses them together, skin to skin. His arms wrapping around him, gathering him up and pulling him in as close as he could. It was more tangible, more physical, but there were borders between Ronan // Kavinsky in ways that had seemed much more nebulous when they had been all memory and emotion and tendrils of incomprehensible form. He strokes a hand down along his spine, his breath shaking like he's just- undone, overwhelmed. He wanted to carve a piece of himself into Kavinsky, like a promise they wouldn't lose each other again.]
I'm not gonna leave you. Never again. I wanna-- fuck. When we get out of here, I want you to let me make it up to you. I want to feel you- days, a week, maybe more. I'm not a coward anymore.
[He pulls away just enough that he can press his hand over Kavinsky's heart, so he can steal the boy's hand and kiss his fingers like he should have that summer. It's a clear seduction, invitation, and he doesn't flinch, doesn't flop towards fury. Admittedly, while he's saying as much in words as he can, there's also a lot still in between the lines -- things he'll try and figure out later. Like the fact that he think he might have ruined the world, but somehow that feels less important than the boy in his arms. He wants Kavinsky to fuck him so much he burns with it, and it's not even strictly sexual. He just wants- needs- he wants him in his skin, wants to show him how much he means to him.]
I dreamed of you so many times. But- in my dreams you always hated me.
[It was how he knew this was real; and why he'd managed to never bring him back. Because it always hurt too much and dissolved into nightmares. Who was crueler to Ronan Lynch than himself?]
--I can't do this without you.
[Live. He meant live.]