[Ronan was breathless and a little flushed along his cheekbones as they parted. But Kavinsky had kissed him back. He clung to the other boy softly, fingers curled against the back of his neck, holding onto him because he didn't want to let go. He didn't think that he wanted the world if it didn't involve the boy in his arms. He was heated and his heart was racing, and it was a belated realization that he hadn't really known what it was like to kiss someone at all, even if he'd thought that he did.
He cups Kavinsky's face in his hands- fingers catching his tears without either of them having to acknowledge that's what he's doing. He wants to say something, to make it better, but he doesn't know the right words. Maybe there aren't any. Maybe sometimes you hurt and all you can do is walk through it. But he's not alone for it, at least. So Ronan kisses him again, softer this time, light as a ghost or butterfly wings. Just a quiet reminder of warmth, of affection, trying to say that he's precious and wanted in the way he touches him, at least.
But Kavinsky asks a question, and that's easy. Or, easi-er at least. He pulls back a little, looking into his eyes, his body curling in toward Kavinsky. Want as sure as his heartbeat.]
Just- live. And help me figure out what the fuck that means. Together.
[He squeezes his hand softly, shrugging his shoulders like he's not asking to change the world.
But then he's always been a thief; everything he was felt stolen.]
no subject
[Ronan was breathless and a little flushed along his cheekbones as they parted. But Kavinsky had kissed him back. He clung to the other boy softly, fingers curled against the back of his neck, holding onto him because he didn't want to let go. He didn't think that he wanted the world if it didn't involve the boy in his arms. He was heated and his heart was racing, and it was a belated realization that he hadn't really known what it was like to kiss someone at all, even if he'd thought that he did.
He cups Kavinsky's face in his hands- fingers catching his tears without either of them having to acknowledge that's what he's doing. He wants to say something, to make it better, but he doesn't know the right words. Maybe there aren't any. Maybe sometimes you hurt and all you can do is walk through it. But he's not alone for it, at least. So Ronan kisses him again, softer this time, light as a ghost or butterfly wings. Just a quiet reminder of warmth, of affection, trying to say that he's precious and wanted in the way he touches him, at least.
But Kavinsky asks a question, and that's easy. Or, easi-er at least. He pulls back a little, looking into his eyes, his body curling in toward Kavinsky. Want as sure as his heartbeat.]
Just- live. And help me figure out what the fuck that means. Together.
[He squeezes his hand softly, shrugging his shoulders like he's not asking to change the world.
But then he's always been a thief; everything he was felt stolen.]