[Elijah leaned into the warmth of the touch as Kavinsky curled his arms against his waist, a quiet murmur of want at the feel of it. He needed the contact, needed to feel-- he didn't know, but he knew this was good. He leans his cheek into the other boy's shoulder, tilting his head so that K can hear him. He doesn't quite know how to answer the question, but the endearment touches something so it feels like his skin burns even hotter.
He's clearly raw, flushed, seems almost high, but it's just the sensations overwhelming him. There's something almost vulnerable in his eyes, or maybe it's the way that he looks at the other boy. Like the violence and the attraction peeled something away, got hooks through his walls, and when mixed with his feelings for Kavinsky he can't help fraying.]
I just- I need you to- hold me down? I feel like I'm.. floating away.
[He struggles with it, and K might be able to pick up on the fact that he just doesn't have the vocabulary to really explain. He's grasping for the words to say it and coming up empty, because he hadn't really known what they were doing, even if he ached with it. There was something about fighting with Skov, about the blood and the impact of knuckles on his skin. About the way the other boy had looked at him when Eli took his shirt off. About Kavinsky.
At first he thought K and his pack of boys would be casual friends. Now, he cared about all of them like they were family. But Kavinsky was-- he didn't know. He was this complicated tangle of desire and affection and belonging, and Prokopenko was nearly as messy. He couldn't help wanting Swan and Skov sometimes too, but it wasn't the same. Not when Kavinsky was like him. They might not be exactly the same, but they were both boys that held their dreams in their hands.
He doesn't know how to say any of it. How Skov was the one that punched him, but Kavinsky was the one that made him shiver.]
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He's clearly raw, flushed, seems almost high, but it's just the sensations overwhelming him. There's something almost vulnerable in his eyes, or maybe it's the way that he looks at the other boy. Like the violence and the attraction peeled something away, got hooks through his walls, and when mixed with his feelings for Kavinsky he can't help fraying.]
I just- I need you to- hold me down? I feel like I'm.. floating away.
[He struggles with it, and K might be able to pick up on the fact that he just doesn't have the vocabulary to really explain. He's grasping for the words to say it and coming up empty, because he hadn't really known what they were doing, even if he ached with it. There was something about fighting with Skov, about the blood and the impact of knuckles on his skin. About the way the other boy had looked at him when Eli took his shirt off. About Kavinsky.
At first he thought K and his pack of boys would be casual friends. Now, he cared about all of them like they were family. But Kavinsky was-- he didn't know. He was this complicated tangle of desire and affection and belonging, and Prokopenko was nearly as messy. He couldn't help wanting Swan and Skov sometimes too, but it wasn't the same. Not when Kavinsky was like him. They might not be exactly the same, but they were both boys that held their dreams in their hands.
He doesn't know how to say any of it. How Skov was the one that punched him, but Kavinsky was the one that made him shiver.]