Joseph ♔ Kavinsky (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
burnyoudown) wrote2021-07-18 04:56 pm
burnyoudown) wrote2021-07-18 04:56 pm
Entry tags:
Open RP Post
🔥 Hit me up on plurk or via PM if you have any questions/want to run an idea by me first/what-have-you.
🔥 General squick/trigger list.
🔥 m/m for anything shippy.
🔥 General headcanon for Kavinsky. If you've got different headcanon/ideas for a psl, hit me with 'em; I'm flexible.
🔥 Kavinsky's kink list.
🔥 This is open to everyone who wants to thread with me!
no subject
[He'd say something about how K seemed like the center of everyone's attention, but Gansey of all people knows how transient that is. There's a difference between having people in your life and having people that know who you are. So he doesn't have to ask how Kavinsky can feel alone.
Whatever sort of strange not-quite-friends they were, it wasn't a dynamic where Gansey attended Kavinsky's parties. He knew about the Halloween party, of course. One of the costs of being popular, of maintaining his odd interests as something quirky and not social paraiah was knowing how to have the right conversations. But Aglionby parties weren't things Gansey indulged in, and Kavinsky's parties seemed even riskier.
But Halloween was one of his favorite holidays. The costumes, the illusion of getting out of your own skin, the mythology and mystery of All Hallows Eve, the Day of the Dead. The chill on the wind that rustled the brightly colored Virginia foliage. The prelude to the holiday season, samhain, magic. He was almost lonely enough to consider it.]
You're- company, at least. Ronan's spending the weekend with Adam and this place feels too quiet when there's no one around.
[If you hadn't seen Gansey outside of school, the Gansey of wild impossible quests and fervent dreams, favors and dead kings, it would be almost impossible to catch the touch of bitterness. It's that clipped edge of old Virginia money, instead of the exuberance of Gansey the scholar. He never would have allowed himself the luxury to his friends, but Kavinsky wasn't a friend. He was- something else.
Noah surely has enough power to be around when he wants, but even he's been scarce. Maybe it's because he knows what bothers him, or maybe there's more interesting things for him to spy on.
And the truth is that he does appreciate the fact that Kavinsky shows up. The other boy had a half dozen reasons to tell him to fuck off, to not bother with Gansey's troubles. But he's here. Gansey shifts a little awkwardly, looking a little too long at the other boy before focusing on the cover of one of his worn history books. The stack was mostly books pertaining to Glendower, but also unevenly spaced between superhero comics and what looked to be a playboy swimsuit issue he'd gotten bored of but hadn't thrown away.
It was one in the morning, so he hadn't had an idea, anything particular in mind once Kavinsky got here. Just- anything at all that wasn't leaving him kicking around in his own head, falling into the black hole in his heart. He was restless, his body all coiled energy and nothing to do with it. He doesn't say I can't sleep, but it's still true. Usually he'd sit on the floor and Ronan would wander out and they'd pass some of the hours in companionable insomnia.
Instead Kavinsky's here. Which feels risky for reasons Gansey doesn't want to consider too closely. And the other boy is dangerous and lovely, like holding a knife by the blade.]
--You any good at pool?
[He smiled at the other boy, but it wasn't his polished politician's smile, it was something ruffled and uneven and a little bit sharp. The side of him limited to these midnight hours, surely. The boy who gets all wound up in his own anxieties, that used to have to talk to Adam to unravel himself.]
no subject
He lifted an eyebrow when Gansey said he was company, at least and held back an amused snort. Sometimes, it felt like they were still walking on eggshells around each other, still combating the whole 'I kind of used to hate you' thing.]
You really asked me over without any plan, didn't you.
[It was an amusing idea, but also a little- touching? It was nice to not always have a purpose for something or a span of time.
Making a thoughtful noise, he stepped over to brush his fingers along the edge of the pool table, and he'd be lying if he said he hadn't imagined bending Gansey over it at least once already.]
Yeah, I've played a little.
[He conceded after a moment, looking over at Gansey again.]
I didn't figure you as one for billiards, Dick.
[For a moment, he did his best impression of Gansey's southern accent. It wasn't too bad, actually, but was definitely exaggerated. He couldn't help having a little fun at the other boy's expense.]
no subject
So despite everything else, Kavinsky was still better than the guys from Crew, or Tad Carruthers. He was something, even if Gansey couldn't have entirely explained the feeling.
He laughs a little at the question, ducking his head slightly as he drags a hand through his hair. He nods, shrugging his shoulders a touch awkwardly as he looks him in the eyes, his hazel eyes warm and almost sweet, although he looks a little self-conscious.]
Yeah, I guess I did. It's better with you here.
[He doesn't feel alone with Kavinsky. He doesn't really think about that too hard, about the fact that at some point this disaster of a boy started orbiting around their circle. Not one of Gansey's things, but more like- he doesn't quite understand it himself, honestly. Maybe they share Ronan, or maybe he's decided he doesn't mind if K steals his things once in a while as long as he gets them back. Maybe he steals a little bit of all of them, even Gansey. His attention, his focus, his time.
When K says he plays a little, that at least gives him some form of immediate plan. So he moves over to the pool table, about to reach for one of the cues, when he looks at Kavinsky instead. There's a smile, a flash of white teeth at the way he imitates his accent, and he pauses, leans his hip against the polished wood as he pulls the triangular wood rack from the table instead.]
Really? What did you figure me for, then?
[The question feels dangerous. He knows he probably wont like the answer. They've never been particularly kind to each other, after all. Although Gansey has had to admit that part of his ire with Kavinsky was really frustration with Ronan's behavior- K just made an easier target. It was easier to convince himself that the problem was someone else coercing Ronan into bad decisions and not the choices he was making.]
no subject
[He sounded casual, but he meant it. Who would've thought he'd be here, hanging out with Gansey like they were friends. He still didn't know what they were really. What was between acquaintances and friends? They didn't quite hold each other at arm's length but they didn't share all their darkest secrets, either.
Grinning, he considered the question. What did he figure Gansey did in his spare time?]
Golf. Crossword puzzles. Maybe sudoku. You know, whatever boring intellectuals are into.
[Pool, on the other hand, there were pool tables in bars. It was different than golf- and not just in all of the obvious ways.
He stalked closer, a big cat on the prowl, and pushed into Gansey's space, far too close. His voice was low when he spoke again.]
Used to think you spent your free time fucking Lynch. Or getting fucked. Guess I was wrong about that. Works out in your favor, though.
no subject
I don't care for golf, but it's one of the unfortunate hazards attached to my last name.
[Gansey pulls the pool balls out of the table two at a time, letting them roll against the green felt, only to go still when he realized that Kavinsky was suddenly too close- in his space, the sort of proximity that gave the air a charge, made his heart race.
Fishing for trouble, for sure.
He should step back, but he doesn't. The words that follow make him feel- he doesn't know. He probably would have been all sharp disapproval if Kavinsky wasn't so close, if the tone of his voice hadn't shifted into something that felt less like it usually had when he was tossing sexualized insults at the pair of boys.
And it's tonight, when Gansey is trying to not wallow in wanting things he can't have. So there's something like longing on his face, a little wounded, even if he tries to be less obvious about it.]
It was never like that.
[He says it softly, the words careful, but his breath still makes it easy to read what he doesn't say: it was never like that for Ronan. Gansey had wanted, ached with it, but he buries it now. Tries to make his feelings into something acceptable, to be able to support his friends, to be happy for them- and he is. He's always wanted Ronan to be happy, or at least have a chance at it.
But there's something about having Kavinsky this close, about having him invoke those old insults that probably wouldn't have bothered him nearly as much if he'd gone home and had his impossible best-friend in his arms. But it always reminded him of what they weren't.]
I'm glad he has Adam. Although I don't see how that's in my favor.
[He's courting trouble, or at least willing to chase it. He could just leave it be, walk away, but he doesn't. His hands braced against the pool table, but he doesn't flinch from having the other boy in his space, from the way his voice feels like a suggestion that heats his skin.]
no subject
So you have to play golf with boring rich people?
[He said, as a rich person himself, but he liked to think the last thing anyone would ever consider him was boring.
He nodded when Gansey said it was never like that, because yeah, he knew that now. Really, he'd just been jealous about how Gansey and Ronan had seemed joined at the hip, never one without the other. He'd wanted Ronan all to himself, but now- yeah, he was glad Ronan was happy, too. He still wished and hoped, but those things would probably never come true. That was okay. It was fine. He could set his sights elsewhere.
Laughing, low and amused, he reached out to trace one fingertip along the side of Gansey's face, feather-light.]
It's in your favor 'cause it means I don't want to beat your face in anymore. I'd rather do other things.
[Was it an innuendo? Absolutely. Was he gauging Gansey's reaction to it? Absolutely.]
no subject
[There's a slight shift in how he enunciates for a moment, like he's imitating his father, but it's honestly a bit too much like doing an impression of himself- hard to tell the difference if you've never met the man. But point being was that Gansey had to learn to play, even if he had little interest in it. It was one of those skills that was useful largely in saying you knew how, like playing the piano and crossword puzzles.
Kavinsky might be rich, but it had always seemed like he must have come from a different culture, a different set of expectations. A youth that didn't involve golf and learning the piano and lawn parties with boring politicians. But maybe he was wrong; he'd misjudged him before.
And then the entire conversion seems lost and unimportant, because there's that way that Kavinsky laughs, his voice low, and it sounds downright sultry. He almost thinks he's imagining it, but then the other boy traces a fingertip against his face, the lightest sort of touch. Gansey lets him, feels almost light-headed, like he'd forgotten to breathe. He doesn't pull away, doesn't ask him what he's doing. He leans into it, just a little, a flutter as he looks at the other boy.
You'd think the mention of wanting to beat his face in would ruin the moment, but it doesn't. Instead it's the ending, where he says that he'd rather do other things that Gansey finds himself fastening onto. His voice is neither icy nor overly polite when he finds his words.]
What sort of things?
[His voice sounds rough and flushed, even to his own ears, and he's glad that he's leaning against the pool table, because he feels unsteady. Maybe Kavinsky is just doing it for a laugh, but he's gorgeous, and he can't help letting it get under his skin. He's looking at him, a different sort of focus to it, the way that he lit up in the face of secrets and wonders.
Maybe it would be easy to say that Kavinsky was seducing him, but the truth was something more mutual. Because Gansey knew what he was doing when he asked the question, knew this was trouble and that he was following anyway. He wanted to, even if he hadn't quite admitted that to himself. But it was true anyway. His dark eyes were captivating, and he'd never had this sort of attention focused on him before.]
no subject
But this was- he was feeling Gansey out. They'd known each other for a few months by now but they didn't know each other. He couldn't say he was invested in changing that just yet, but he could be convinced to want to know the inner workings of Richard Gansey.
He leaned in a little closer- he had absolutely no concept of personal space (or rather, he did, but only when it suited him)- and said:]
I was thinking about kissing you.
[And then, well, he did kiss him. He assumed Gansey would stop him if he wasn't into it, and Kavinsky wouldn't try to force it beyond that.]
no subject
[That's all the response his brain can muster when Kavinsky says that he's thinking about kissing him. Which notably isn't a no, it isn't a protest, or laughing it off, or any of the responses that he probably should have had when it came to the idea of Kavinsky kissing him. And even if what he says could be mistaken as a lack of interest, there's heat in his tone, in the way that he says it.
And he kisses him back.
It's a little bit shy at first, almost unsure, but he is into it. A slow sort of desire as he leans into him, reaching up to curl fingers against his shoulder. There's a helpless sort of sound in his throat, a shiver in his frame. It's not his first kiss or anything, but- it's been a long time since he's kissed anyone. Since anyone wanted to kiss him. He's tactile when you pull away the layers of the people he is for other people.
Gansey's been so alone. Partially his own fault, of course. Courting a dead Welsh King didn't imply a predisposition towards affection.]
no subject
But no, there he was, kissing him back. And Kavinsky crowded ever closer into his space, resting his hands on his hips as he more or less pinned him against the side of the pool table. It wasn't even so much that Kavinsky was attempting to prevent his prey from fleeing but- he was very physical, tactile. He liked touching and being touched.
He didn't even try to push for more; it was a steady kiss that he let linger for a long moment before he pulled away to murmur-]
Thought you didn't like me.
no subject
There was something about the way that his hands pressed to Gansey's hips, pinning him up against the side of the pool table. He had no intention of fleeing, but somehow the way he held him in place got under his skin. He liked it, wanted it. It made his fingers cling to his shoulder just a little tighter, has him breathing ragged and uneven when they part.
There's a slight touch of amusement as he catches his breath in response to K's words and Gansey reaches up, looking into his eyes. And it feels different, like seeing him for the first time outside of who he was to Ronan. Seeing him like he could be someone to Gansey. He touches his fingers against his jaw, the slightest whisper of his fingertips as he skims against his skin.]
Mm. You're not as bad as I used to think.
[His voice is teasing, almost fond. But- there's a truth to it, too. Like Gansey knows he should apologize for having been an asshole, for blaming Kavinsky because it was easy. For knowing he was a drug dealer and thinking that was all he needed to hear about him. For the fact that if Ronan hadn't brought K back that he would never have bothered re-contextualizing any of it at all.
But Gansey wasn't great at apologies himself, and it seemed like the sort of conversation that just begged for him to find some way to say something careless and insulting. And he didn't want to chase him off.]
But you were always terribly attractive.
no subject
Neither are you. I thought you were a boring asshole. All full of yourself.
[And boring, had he mentioned boring? Gansey still wasn't like, a wild party boy, but he had his moments. Kavinsky was secretly fond of the way Gansey got excited about things, like Cabeswater. They might not have shared the same passions, but hearing him ramble about things was- oddly endearing. He wondered if that was the way the rest of Gansey's friends felt about it. If that was why they put up with him sometimes.
He preened a little when he was told he was attractive, and really, one could argue about not stroking his ego, but sometimes it needed a little stroke. He could be so hard on himself.]
And you've got a great mouth. And beautiful eyes.
[And nice hair that was just begging for fingers to run through it. And a neck that equally begged to be touched and kissed. He couldn't help but wonder if the rest of Gansey was as nice as the parts he could see.]
no subject
Gansey shivered a little at the way that Kavinsky's thumbs stroked against his hips. It was strangely intimate, but he leans into his hands, doesn't pull away even if he probably should. But he liked the way that the other boy leaned into his touch, warm against him, if not as heated as when they'd kissed. He made him feel like the recklessness in his veins wasn't really a bad idea.
Gansey knew what it was like to be hard on yourself, to seem like you were the last person on earth in need of praise. He flushes a little when K tells him he has a great mouth and beautiful eyes.]
Does that.. are you saying you might want to kiss me again?
[There's a bit of a glint in his hazel eyes as he looks up at Kavinsky, a touch of invitation to the words. Because he wants to. Normally Gansey isn't a boy that gives into things just because he wants to, that allows himself to be driven by wild desires. But-- he doesn't know. This isn't a wild party, it's just the two of them. And he's so lonely, unable to say that to either of his friends. And Kavinsky is here with him, warm and beautiful and captivating.
Hardly the first time he's noticed. Maybe not even the first time he's thought about him- kissing him, or maybe more. He hadn't thought about what he wanted when he'd asked him to come over, but the idea of spending the night making out with Joseph Kavinsky wasn't actually a bad thought at all. He wonders if he'd stay the night, if he'd dare to ask.]
no subject
Yeah, Sherlock, I'm saying I want to kiss you again.
[And so he did, leaning in and pressing their mouths together. It was almost sweet- sweeter than he would have kissed if they'd been at a party or around other people. It was easier to feel like he didn't have to posture as much when he was alone with someone.]