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
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🔥 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.
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dreamer in the dream pack
And slowly, it turns out that he doesn't have to be. Kavinsky can put up with him at his worst, and slowly Eli learns to let down his walls a little bit. Enough to show that there's good to go with it, too. That he isn't all anger, even if he's got it in spades. He gels with Skov and Jiang, and he likes Swan too. Proko- is strange. He doesn't know how he feels about him. Like they're sort of the same, somehow. He thinks he'd die for him. K and his boys are the only friends he needs, as far as he's concerned.
He loves cars, his family, and- maybe Kavinsky and his boys. They all seem to be made of the same stuff, in one way or another.
There's a shadow to him, something he doesn't talk about, but everyone has secrets, trauma. He races with them, shows up at K's parties, drinks and gets high with them, and that seems to be what matters.
One night, Eli puts someone on their ass for getting in K's face. Not really a fight- he just hauls the guy backwards and hits their knee so they tumble to the ground, sputtering in fury. He calls Eli just another one of K's dogs, and the dark-haired boy grins, wild and almost manic, green eyes glittering by the light of the bonfire.
Do you really think that's a fucking insult?
So of course Elijah ends up as part of the pack. It had felt almost inevitable. But, he doesn't sleep around them often, always wakes in a panic when he does. He'll stay over a couple nights, but he usually stays up, whether that's watching bootleg Saudi racing videos, or flirting, or just pressed up close to someone's side just for the proximity, the contact. But he usually ducks out before that can go far enough to really be called making out.
It's been a couple months. Long enough that he's close with the other boys, but not so close they've all spilled their heart veins, that they know each others' secrets and worst truths. Tonight he lets himself be talked into trying one of K's pills, not quite knowing what to expect from this one. It's just the boys at K's house, ostensibly there to watch movies, but Eli ends up in his bedroom as he places the pill on his tongue. It seems safe, even if he knows better than most what a fucking lie that is. But it's an easy high, soft and syrupy. He drifts, nuzzling into his side. K says something that he doesn't quite catch- probably checking Skov doesn't set the kitchen on fire- and he falls into sleep before he comes back.
But he's there at his side, next to him in his bed, when it all goes to shit.
Maybe K can tell the difference. The way that it's less like Elijah brings them back with him, and almost more like things fall out of his dreams. It sets Kavinsky's comforter on fire, along with the clothes Eli had been wearing. A pair of creatures of all wrong angles, shifting features that obeyed dream logic, not waking logic. It was all shadow and flame, turning the air to ashes. K goes for his gun, and Elijah is halfway through you can't-- because only dreams can kill a dream, when K puts a bullet through its face and it starts to crumble.
Eli had managed to peel himself out of his clothes before they burned him, so he's down to his boxers when he draws a sword from the air. After a brief scuffle he shoves it into the other one, accidentally up-ending Kavinsky's bedside table in the process. There's blood and strange bodies that even in death don't fit in the waking world- but then it's just blood and ashes. And if Kavinsky is paying attention, he might catch the moment when the sword climbs back onto Elijah's skin. Ink that trails up his fingers, curling around his wrist again, and slowly spelling out Latin words in a line up his arm that means: I will find a way or I will make one.
But standing there in plaid boxers and nothing else, it's hard to miss the scars on his chest. Surgery scars- around his nipples and the bottom edge of where they redefined his chest. They're healing well, but still recent- the scars are pink, rather than faded silver. His breathing is rough with the adrenaline, and he wants to ask ... there's so many things he wants to ask. But instead his shoulders curl in, and he deflates in a way he hasn't before, that seems like more than the dreams. Something in his body language, in how he looks at Kavinsky changes.]
Do you.. have a shirt I can borrow?
[He imagines the other boys will probably be checking in on K in a moment, and he doesn't want them to see him like this. He should ask about the gun, about the fact that K killed a dream like he'd done it before, but the terror clawing in his heart feels more pressing- that the only boys he'd thought of as his friends won't see him for who he is.]
no subject
His room was something of a wreck now, but he didn't really care. Everything in it was just a thing; he could replace or fix them. People were more important, and both himself and Elijah seemed unharmed. He wasn't looking at the mess though; he was looking at Elijah. At his scars, at the tattoos on his arms, the way the sword melted back into his skin. He had so many questions; he didn't know where to start. But there was a more pressing matter to take care of first.
Nodding, he put the gun down on the top of the dresser.]
Yeah.
[He opened a drawer, rifled through the contents, and pulled out an old band t-shirt, worn and soft, and held it out to Elijah.
He couldn't help but stare again, gaze flickering to his tattoos, particularly the Latin bit. Latin wasn't his best subject, but he thought he got the gist. He couldn't get the thought out of his head; Elijah was magic. He was magic. And Kavinsky might never have found out if this accident hadn't happened. He assumed it was an accident, at least. Unless Elijah had wanted to kill him with a fire and horrible creatures. He doubted it, though. It was a complicated way to kill someone; easier to just put a bullet in their head or something.]
Thanks for ruining my bed.
[But his tone was surprisingly light, more teasing than accusing.]
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There's something about the way that Kavinsky stares at him. He looks at the scars, sure, but largely his attention seems to be on his tattoos, the ink- dreams- on his skin. He's not looking at him like he's- less. Like he might be different from the boy that had fallen asleep in his bed, but not in a way that means scorn or rejection. The very thought of it- that K might know and not hate him for it makes his throat feel tight, his heart race unevenly.
There was a reason he'd transferred after the surgery. So far away that no one knew who he was. A boy's academy so no one would question it. It had been a mess to get all his documents in order, but his father had lawyers for things like that. They handled the court orders, and the polite and not-so-polite requests to update his name and gender on all the records that Aglionby had needed. Just a boy, just another rich asshole.
He takes the tee-shirt, murmuring a quiet thanks as he does, rubbing his fingers against the soft fabric for a moment and then awkwardly pulling it on over his head. He wants to curl up in a ball, or maybe curl up in K's lap, but he tries to look like he's okay, even if he isn't. He feels small standing there in a tee-shirt and boxers in the ruins of K's room, his heart racing.]
You needed a bigger bed anyway- this just gives you an excuse.
[It's clearly supposed to be a joke, or maybe a vague sort of flirtation, but his voice doesn't quite carry it. Uneasy, unsure, and he swallows awkwardly. There's an I'm sorry there between the words, but Elijah doesn't know how to say it outloud when he already feels so undone.]
This is why I don't sleep.
[His voice turning softer, but more honest as he says it with a sigh, rubbing a hand through his sleep-messy hair. Which is clearly an excellent solution to the problem. The fear and the sleeplessness making his dreams more prone to horrors when he finally gives in, making him less able to control what happens to his dreams when he wakes. But he was alone with his dreams, unable to control them, and he didn't know how to handle it any better.]
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[As big a fucking bed as possible. He managed a little smile. He wasn't upset about the bed or the mess. He was glad they were both in one piece. Things could have ended disastrously. They could have burned to death or been murdered or any other number of terrible things.
He wanted to reach out and touch Elijah, to reassure him, but he wasn't sure if he should. Normally, he never cared about invading someone else's space, but- Elijah was different. Not just because of the dreams but because he mattered to Kavinsky.]
I can help. You don't have to be afraid.
[And he knew what it was like to be afraid to sleep, to worry about what horrors you were going to pull with you. It'd been years and years since he'd really had to worry, but things still happened from time to time, even now. There was a reason he kept a gun close by, and it wasn't just because he worried about burglars or other nefarious situations.
But it wasn't healthy to not sleep and it wasn't like avoiding it had ever done any good. Things were just worse when you did sleep.]
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[K smiles, and Elijah manages to echo it. He wants to reach out and touch him, wants to reassure himself that the other boy is still here, still breathing and real and alive, but he doesn't want to imply that he needs it. So he resists the urge.
At least until Kavinsky says that he can help, that Eli doesn't have to be afraid- like he knows anyway. Like he doesn't judge him for it. His heartbeat feels erratic against his ribs, and he looks him over, a little bit flushed as he scrubs a hand over his face. Fuck. Fuck everything.]
I don't have to be afraid.. about the dreams, or- everything?
[It's a soft question, saying the thing he can't quite bring himself to put into words. He thinks it's maybe okay, though. Kavinsky isn't acting like he's an imposter, like he'd lied to him by acting like he's a boy. But he just- he needs to know.
Interestingly, even down to his boxers, Elijah's silhouette is still more masculine; the soft plaid fabric doesn't sit entirely flat against his body. It looks like there's something in his pants, anyway. And there is, but it's made of soft silicone. He'd figured out pretty early on that cis guys were way too interested in other guys' dicks to not have something in his jeans.
And well, he likes the feel of it.]
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[Kavinsky would like that. He liked having his boys close, not just because he was greedy but because he was lonely.
Stepping closer, he reached out to rest a hand on Elijah's shoulder, gentle but firm, thumb brushing back and forth for a moment.]
Everything. I can help with your dreams. And you're- [Fuck, how did he put this. He wasn't good with words sometimes, but actions didn't always solve all the problems.] -you're safe here.
[It wasn't quite what he was trying to go for, but it was true all the same. He couldn't say he didn't think of Elijah differently now, but it had more to do with the dream things than anything else. He couldn't get over the idea that Elijah was magic.]
I won't tell the other guys. [He added, more quietly. He didn't out people, especially not people he cared about. It was up to the individual what they wanted to share about themselves, in his opinion.]
no subject
Getting top surgery was more or less good enough for him for now. He didn't know if he wanted more than that. He has the luxury of having the money for it, and his parents' support, the ability to get on a plane to see whatever doctor could offer the best care- but he had yet to hear about a procedure that would give him a dick like any other cisguy. And if he couldn't have that, he didn't know if halfway would be better than what he had.
And so even if he was more or less okay with his body, it was other people he worried about. Impossible to tell who would be okay with who he was and who wouldn't, unless he asked, outed himself, or if he waited until his clothes came off. Needless to say, as much as he wanted, he'd never been willing to make himself that vulnerable for someone.
Except that he'd ended up like this anyway. And K's hand is a comfort on his shoulder, the way that he says he's safe- in all the ways that he's never been safe. Not outside of home. He nods slowly, murmuring a soft thank you when he says he wont tell the other guys.
And then he just gives into the urge he's been fighting and just steps in, pressing up against the other boy, one hand clutching against his ribs in the fabric of his shirt. Eli presses his face into his shoulder and he's maybe- he maybe sniffles a little bit. He's not upset, he's just a little bit overwhelmed. So many things he could say, but instead it's one of the things he'd meant to say earlier, when Kavinsky had killed one of his nightmares.]
You can make dreams too.
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Yeah, I can.
[He pressed a soft kiss against the side of the other boy's head, a small comfort, he hoped. A little sign of affection.
He wasn't sure their dreams worked the same way, not after he'd seen what'd happened with Elijah's tattoos, but it was close enough. Enough that Kavinsky felt a longing to understand it more, to keep Elijah in his life. It might have been a selfish desire, but he didn't want to feel alone anymore. He didn't want to be alone. He knew he had his boys, but they weren't the same, they couldn't understand.
It was part of why he'd do whatever he could to help Elijah with his dreams. The other part was just- he did like helping people, contrary to what was probably the popular belief.]
You know the odds of the two of us finding each other is probably astronomical.
[The two of them being able to bring dreams into reality. He didn't know how many others there were who were like them, but. It was probably a relatively low number.]
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You'll really help me? I've always been on my own.
[And clearly not doing great with it, if this was any indication.
He's not good at asking for help, but he's trying to be receptive. He didn't quite know how to say please, but he hoped that was close enough. He lets his other hand press low against K's spine, like a wordless affirmation, a whisper of affection he couldn't have spelled out.]
Probably. But-- fuck. I'm glad we did. That I met you.
[The words are soft, a little muffled as he says them more into Kavinsky's shoulder than to his face. He's not good at this- being vulnerable, saying that sort of stuff that was sort of helplessly affectionate. He wouldn't say he had a crush on him, exactly, it was just- how did you orbit around Kavinsky without wanting him a little? How did you find someone whose soul was the same and not want to hold onto them? Elijah didn't know how, anyway.]
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[Maybe somebody else would, but he wasn't about to.]
I know that feeling. I had to teach myself everything.
[But he'd done better with his dreaming than Elijah was. Though Elijah's also seemed to work differently so maybe that was part of it, too. But keeping your dreams from escaping your head- that shit could be hard. It was just as hard as bringing exactly what you intended out of your dream, the way you wanted it. He'd spent months, years, practicing until he'd gotten things just right. Some things were harder than others, too.
He didn't say anything about the vulnerability of the moment. He didn't even think of teasing Elijah for anything. There was nothing to tease about; they'd both had a traumatic experience that could have ended poorly but they were both alright. Secrets had been revealed and- Kavinsky knew that could be tough. He might've seemed casual about being a dreamer and killing dreams and all of that, but he felt charged with new possibilities.
There was someone like him who actually wanted to be around him. He wasn't alone. He would do what he could to teach Elijah and if they could combine their abilities...who knew what they could be capable of together.]
I'm glad we met, too.