[He murmured softly against the other boy's mouth, something about the way that his fingers brushed against the back of his neck soothing an ache that Adam didn't even really want to admit to.
There's something intoxicating about this, about being close to someone, about feeling- he doesn't quite know. Feeling wanted, desired. Like Kavinsky- untouchable dark king of Henrietta- thought that Adam Parrish was worth wanting. Maybe this is a bad idea, but it's one that he can't resist. Letting the other boy's fingers on his hips urge him closer until he's in his lap, knees pressing to K's hips.
They're pressed so close and it somehow feels almost more intimate than kissing. His fingers slide against his ribs through his shirt, his other hand shifting to cup the side of his face and then trail down against the side of his neck. This felt illicit; but Adam couldn't help wanting to hold onto it anyway. The words Kavinsky says seem almost impossible; he's not like them. Doesn't have a car for street racing, has far too contentious a relationship with alcohol and violence for these things to ever be easy.
The idea of belonging to someone isn't easy for him, either- the desire to not be alone, warring with his need to stand on his own feet. But it feels less like control, less like being a thing that Kavinsky would owns than the sentiment does when it's coming from Gansey. Or maybe that's just how he justifies it to himself. So he's wary but he doesn't flinch, doesn't pull away.
Instead he traces fingers against his skin, his eyes sharp and intense with hardly any space between them. He's already in over his head, but he tries to pretend he has a handle on this, on his own desires.]
no subject
There's something intoxicating about this, about being close to someone, about feeling- he doesn't quite know. Feeling wanted, desired. Like Kavinsky- untouchable dark king of Henrietta- thought that Adam Parrish was worth wanting. Maybe this is a bad idea, but it's one that he can't resist. Letting the other boy's fingers on his hips urge him closer until he's in his lap, knees pressing to K's hips.
They're pressed so close and it somehow feels almost more intimate than kissing. His fingers slide against his ribs through his shirt, his other hand shifting to cup the side of his face and then trail down against the side of his neck. This felt illicit; but Adam couldn't help wanting to hold onto it anyway. The words Kavinsky says seem almost impossible; he's not like them. Doesn't have a car for street racing, has far too contentious a relationship with alcohol and violence for these things to ever be easy.
The idea of belonging to someone isn't easy for him, either- the desire to not be alone, warring with his need to stand on his own feet. But it feels less like control, less like being a thing that Kavinsky would owns than the sentiment does when it's coming from Gansey. Or maybe that's just how he justifies it to himself. So he's wary but he doesn't flinch, doesn't pull away.
Instead he traces fingers against his skin, his eyes sharp and intense with hardly any space between them. He's already in over his head, but he tries to pretend he has a handle on this, on his own desires.]
And what would that look like? What do you want?