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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🔥 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.
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Hecking yeah!!
It went by the name of Ronan Lynch.
Kavinsky was cool to the touch. Of course, he was; it wasn't like he was going to get any warmer. His flame was burning low but it was still there. He was still there. It didn't take as much effort as he'd thought it would to touch and interact with things. Less effort than dreaming. Not that he could do that anymore. It was weird. He didn't really like it. He missed having the world at his fingertips, doing whatever he pleased, dreaming whatever he wanted.
But what he wanted more than anything else was Ronan. So, K got into his room. That took less effort than it would have before, too. He didn't have to worry about getting lost or picking locks. He was just there because he wanted to be. It was easy and yet-
He sat astride Ronan's thighs, leaning forward, hands skating down his arms. Ronan was warm- so warm. Kavinsky looked exactly like he had before he'd died- eyes dark and hungry, lips full and equally hungry. He leaned down closer, necklace brushing Ronan's skin before his lips did, mouth ghosting over his neck.]
Lynch.
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He blinked his eyes, those blues with heavy lashes slowly glancing up to find the specter pressed on top of him. The gold necklace was cold on his skin and he whined softly in his throat as he gazed into those dark eyes, hungry, like the other boy might devour him whole. He shuddered with the feel of ghost-metal, but he doesn't flinch, doesn't push him away.
He gasps, his shoulders shuddering at the way that he says his name, like it's breaking some sort of spell. Ronan looks at him, somewhere between horrified and entranced- like an addiction, like something worse than the green pills. Kavinsky's mouth on his neck, lips just shy of his pulse, and he looks into his eyes, body flushed against crisp sheets.
He isn't pulling away, doesn't push K away, or try to shift his spectral form off of him. It's almost like he likes the weight, likes the way that he's almost pinned to the mattress.
Either because he's just pulling from sleep, or for a hundred other, worse reasons, Ronan seems raw, undone. He's open and affected, and his want is vibrant and hot and like it would be easy for K to ruin him. But then maybe after all the months of guilt and shame and the myriad hurts he doesn't say, maybe he needs to be ruined a little.]
--I'm not dreaming.
[The words unsteady, his heart erratic, Ronan watching him like he thinks whatever this is might evaporate. And then something seems to click and he looks at him, all heat and tenderness.]
...I haven't been dreaming, have I?
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[And sometimes, Kavinsky wasn't good with patience. He was dead though, what did he have to worry about when it came to time? Lynch was the one getting older, not him. Lynch was the one ever in danger of shuffling off the mortal coil. K didn't want him to though- he might have been angry and bitter and upset but he still didn't want to see Lynch dead. Despite having been used. Despite having killed himself because of the other dreamer- sure, he was pissed about those things, but there was a certain peace in being a ghost, too.
He didn't have to worry about the next time he was going to get high or what he was doing with his future or the newest insult people would sling his way. He didn't have to worry about anything anymore except getting what he wanted.]
Have you dreamt about me?
[There was something almost endearing about it if it was true, something that was almost enough to temper Kavinsky's bitterness.]
Before or after I died?
[He wanted to kiss Ronan, he really did. But he wanted to hurt him, too. But- he was torn, conflicted. Once upon a time, there hadn't been anything he'd wanted more than to curl up next to Ronan and rest his head on his chest and- but that had been before. There wasn't a world that would let him be with Ronan the way he wanted to, not anymore.]
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[His words catch, choke in his throat. And if this had been before Kavinsky died, he probably would have laughed about it, said something vicious to cover it over. He doesn't. If not for K's weight against him, he probably would have sagged under the weight of the guilt. But somehow, being so close like this made it impossible for the feeling to settle on his skin.
He nods at the question, his face flushed, a little awkward as he breathes it into the air.]
Both. I guess.. probably more after. But I dreamt about you when you were alive, too.
[He notably doesn't mention what those dreams were about, but it's also not hard to figure out, either. The way his skin warms and his blue eyes dip. And there's a moment where he doesn't meet Kavinsky's dark gaze until he can't fight it anymore, can't help it from the proximity.
Ronan doesn't know what he wants anymore. Was there anything worse than realizing you wanted someone too late to stop pulling away, stop being scared of what that meant? Knowing that what happened to them was your fault in the ways that mattered? If not for Matthew he doesn't know if he'd have made it through the year-- but he supposes that's why Declan told him. The cruelest of kindness.]
You should have told me you were a ghost sooner, asshole.
[That felt safer, like something normal. He doesn't really plan on wrapping his arms around K's chest, clinging to his body that isn't flesh, the touch of him that's something other than warmth, not quite solid. Ronan presses his face into his neck, cheeks wet with hot tears. He doesn't make a sound, probably hasn't since Kavinsky died. It's not like he had anyone he thought would understand.]
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He took a deep breath, held it for a moment- but while he was trying to figure out how he felt about this, Ronan was holding onto him. And Kavinsky wasn't oblivious to his tears. He sighed; how was he supposed to stay angry when Ronan was crying? He slid a hand up, cupping the back of Ronan's head, fingers gentle and cool against his skin. He'd been expecting things to go a lot differently, he hadn't thought-]
I figured you'd be a bitch about it.
[There wasn't nearly as much bite to his tone as there could have been. He didn't mean this sort of reaction right now, either. He'd thought- maybe Ronan would try to get rid of him or something if he knew he was still around as a ghost. Not that K knew how someone would even go about doing that, but...
He let himself settle against Ronan as comfortably as he could, face tucked to his shoulder. If he'd still had a pulse his heart would have been racing, being this close to the boy he'd wanted for so long.]
So what'd you figure out since I died?
[He needed to know. He needed to know exactly why Ronan was crying. He hadn't thought anyone would shed tears over his death, maybe not even his boys. This was...it made him feel a little triumphant, as petty as it was.]
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Fuck you. One of my best-friends is also a ghost, you know. It's great; can't bitch when I throw him out a window if he's already dead.
[There's a slight touch of wry humor in how he says it, like he might be joking. It's true, of course, but- the words aren't sharp. Not like Ronan isn't sharp, but like he isn't sharp with Kavinsky, or at least not now, like this. When Ronan's hands betray him as surely as his tears, fingers clinging to him like he's afraid of losing him again. He closes his eyes and just leans into him, not kissing, but- there's the tension of it in the air, of things lost between them, dreams and promises unkept.
Ronan is simultaneously hurt and ecstatic with Kavinsky in his arms, overwhelmed and he just- he still wants him, wants those fingertips on the ink of his tattoo. But the ghost of his bloody heart asks that question and Ronan just sighs into the air instead.]
That I'm a goddamn mess? [He smiles thinly, but doesn't stick to the deflection.] I don't know how to say this, how to-- I just fucking--
[He quiets for a moment, catches his breath. He's wounded, and a year later he's still bleeding.]
I figured out that.. I think I'm in love with you, okay?
[He swallows, hides his face in K's shoulder like that will shelter him from what he says. It doesn't, of course. The horror has been this hole in his chest, a chill in the marrow of his bones, eating him alive. He wants to say something else, but he doesn't know what. So he just-- he holds him. Probably too tight, if he was flesh and bone, Ronan's breath coming too fast, heart racing, and it's still awful and it's still overwhelming and he feels like he's choking on the empty space where they'd been supposed to make something together.
His eyes are still damp, but he's trying not to cry. Ronan didn't like to think of himself as the sort of boy prone to tears. Kavinsky might also notice the phrasing: I'm in love with you. He doesn't say was. He hadn't ever put an end date on it just because K died. How could he when he'd been dead when Ronan realized how he felt? And now he's here, and- he doesn't know what this means.]
I was scared, K. I wanted so much more than I thought I could ever have, than I was allowed to want, and so I was an asshole and I pushed you away. But I thought-- I thought that we'd go back to how things were, how they always were with us. I ghost you and we yell and we hit each other, but we never-- [His voice breaks and Ronan doesn't try to hide how he shakes, his voice dropping to a fragile murmur, guilt and shame, always. They felt thicker than blood, most days.
And he still doesn't know how to say the complicated piece of it. Something about how they'd both been dying, but Kavinsky kept him alive, too. Ronan just hadn't known how to return the favor. He hadn't understood he was supposed to, hadn't seen the steps they'd been dancing until too late. He thinks Jiang knows that the real reason Ronan still races with him is that he felt like the only part of Kavinsky that was still alive.]
--you weren't supposed to leave me for real, you dick.
[Normally this would all be anger and violence, but he's spent so much of it.]
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It's a little fucking late, man.
[He'd come back to Ronan having a ghost for a friend at a future date, to be determined. He filed the information away though, and there was something about not being the only one that made him feel less lonely and a little jealous at the same time. He should've figured that if he'd come back as a ghost there was nothing stopping other people from doing the same thing, but-
More important than that, Ronan had just said he thought he loved him. If he'd been alive, Kavinsky would have gone through a series of reactions. A quickened pulse, a lump in his throat, fuck, maybe even butterflies in his stomach. It had been all he'd ever wanted- was still all he wanted.]
You're the one who's a dick.
[He could have elaborated, gone into all the reasons why, but he was pretty sure they both knew why. He didn't need to dig into the wound and make it worse. Instead, he smoothed his fingers over Ronan's cheeks, soft and gentle.]
You can't get rid of me that easily.
[Because here he still was, despite the odds.]
And-
[He hesitated. It wasn't easy to say no matter how true it was. Words were hard, sometimes, depending on what was being talked about. He'd never been good at expressing his feelings verbally.]
-I love you, too.