[Ronan shivered, a flutter of his lashes over his eyes. All he could focus on was the way that he touched him, the way that his lips kissed against his neck. His own hands sliding up under Kavinsky's shirt once he had the lube set off to the side so he didn't have to worry about losing it when Kavinsky inevitably took off Ronan's pants. At least, he was hoping that it was inevitable.
It was overwhelming for Ronan, too. This desire that simmered in his veins, down to the marrow of his bones, like the only thing saving him was the sense that Kavinsky felt it too. That Ronan wasn't the only one of them burning. He felt like he could have been happy if they just stripped down to skin, twined their bodies together and laid there on the sheets until the sun came up. But Ronan couldn't help wanting more. He almost whines or whimpers, tilting his head so that he can bare more of his neck to the other boy.
His skin under his hands, Kavinsky on top of him, leaning over him in a way that felt like the best sort of promise. His breath catching, uneven as he exhales, just from the feeling of the other boy's fingers on the zipper of his jeans.]
Oh fuck, K, please--
[His hips jerking up into the contact, unable to resist the way he's almost begging. Not even for anything specific, but just more, just this, just to be touched, for everything they've both been dying for. He loved him and he wanted it engraved on his body as surely as it was in his heart. Which was really what Ronan had been saying when he'd had Hennessey put his tattoo on Kavinsky, he supposes. God, he can't believe he gets to have this.
He palms against Kavinsky through his jeans, just to touch him, just to feel his arousal. Ronan was helplessly hard, his interest and desperation impossible to hide.]
I'm yours.
[It's all he can manage to say, but it's also helplessly true, honest. But hasn't he always been? Would he have been so terrified if it hadn't felt so all-consuming? There was nothing casual about loving Kavinsky and Ronan hadn't known how to face it. Now, he gives it to him like the easiest prayer he's ever said.]
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It was overwhelming for Ronan, too. This desire that simmered in his veins, down to the marrow of his bones, like the only thing saving him was the sense that Kavinsky felt it too. That Ronan wasn't the only one of them burning. He felt like he could have been happy if they just stripped down to skin, twined their bodies together and laid there on the sheets until the sun came up. But Ronan couldn't help wanting more. He almost whines or whimpers, tilting his head so that he can bare more of his neck to the other boy.
His skin under his hands, Kavinsky on top of him, leaning over him in a way that felt like the best sort of promise. His breath catching, uneven as he exhales, just from the feeling of the other boy's fingers on the zipper of his jeans.]
Oh fuck, K, please--
[His hips jerking up into the contact, unable to resist the way he's almost begging. Not even for anything specific, but just more, just this, just to be touched, for everything they've both been dying for. He loved him and he wanted it engraved on his body as surely as it was in his heart. Which was really what Ronan had been saying when he'd had Hennessey put his tattoo on Kavinsky, he supposes. God, he can't believe he gets to have this.
He palms against Kavinsky through his jeans, just to touch him, just to feel his arousal. Ronan was helplessly hard, his interest and desperation impossible to hide.]
I'm yours.
[It's all he can manage to say, but it's also helplessly true, honest. But hasn't he always been? Would he have been so terrified if it hadn't felt so all-consuming? There was nothing casual about loving Kavinsky and Ronan hadn't known how to face it. Now, he gives it to him like the easiest prayer he's ever said.]