[To be fair to Kavinsky, he didn't actually do it on purpose. It just sort of happened, because he didn't really know what this was, what Ronan wanted. Maybe he should have known it would go like this, maybe he should have asked, but he'd been scared, not that he'd ever say the words. When had he ever talked about his feelings before, when had it ever felt safe? Sure as shit not with his parents. There had been a couple times with Skov, but that was different. Maybe they kissed sometimes, but it was never romantic. It was just-- they were similar, and they understood needing the affection, needing to settle yourself in your skin.
If it had been Skov, he could probably have shrugged this off, settled Ronan down, but it wasn't that easy.
This was all his fault really, anyway. For wanting what he thought that he couldn't have, but being unwilling to let go. Even now he wanted to fix this, he wanted to keep him. And months ago, he'd put his hands on him; he'd let Ronan put hands on him, and fuck but he couldn't stop. It had been almost an accident- well, Kavinsky had wanted him from the beginning, so accident wasn't really the right word. But it had been after a race, and he'd lost, and he couldn't even remember what he'd said.
What he did remember was Ronan's fingers around his throat, the way that he'd backed him up against the BMW. Side of the road and no one watching, just a couple abandoned bottles they hadn't finished. K had gasped in a way that wasn't pain and that had seemed to pause the other boy's brain while he tried to catch up. Kavinsky had softly curled his against the skin of Ronan's forearm -- not like he was trying to pull him away, like he was trying to pull him closer.]
Jesus. If you're gonna choke me Lynch, do it like you mean it.
[He'd expected Ronan to pull away, to flinch from the very suggestion of sexuality. And then his head is swimming, and he can't breathe. And Kavinsky shakes, his other hand curling in Ronan's black tanktop, just holding on as his strong fingers press into his throat, his blue eyes watching Kavinsky with an intensity that makes the dreamer burn. K is hard in his jeans, and he almost thinks that Ronan is going to choke him out like this, and the idea is more hot than scary, which is probably fucked, but he's always been a mess. But Ronan lets his fingers ease, stroking almost affectionately against his skin- where the bruises will be later.
Kavinsky is ruined; although he always had been for Ronan. His voice low, a little raspy from the way Ronan had just choked the breath from him.]
--Do it again.
[Things escalate, like they always do with them, and that was probably Kavinsky's fault, too.
The way that Ronan ended up sitting in the car with the door open and space enough between his long legs for Kavinsky's slim body. He was on his knees in the gravel, his mouth around Ronan's cock, lips slick and eager as Ronan's hands almost tenderly hold the sides of his face. Kavinsky slides all the way down, letting the girth of the other boy's cock slide down his throat like he was made for this, and if he could have grinned at the way that he cursed he would have. And Ronan carefully held him like that, not letting him pull back to breathe, but his fingers stroked against his dark hair.
It's maybe the softest they've ever been allowed to be with one another.
K's eyes went fuzzy, but he didn't look away from the other boy. His sight flickering dark at the edges, narrowing down to almost tunnel-vision as his throat flexed around Ronan's cock. His body struggled to breathe and Kavinsky struggled to stay like that until Ronan pulled him back and he could gasp for breath a few times. And then he'd lean back in like he needed this, eyes glassy and almost desperate -- it wasn't like he believed he'd get a second chance. It was a rhythm between them, but not one that could last very long.
Kavinsky let Ronan's release slide down his throat, taking in the way he tasted and the way that he felt. He knew he'd probably be dreaming about this for years. And then-- Ronan did not shove his hand down K's jeans or anything. No, instead he traced fingers over K's wet mouth, and then Ro was carefully choking him again, breathing a soft request into the shadows between them. He couldn't get his jeans open fast enough, shamefully hard and aching and showing him what he did to him; it the sort of careless that came from being so close to getting off as the boy he liked choked him in a way that felt as sweet as people kissed in movies.
The other dreamer pressed fingers into the soft skin of his throat, leaving bruises like fingerprints at the base of his neck. And Kavinsky shook and trembled and whined even with no sound to it. He hardly had to touch himself at all like this, just the slightest brush of his fingertips and then his orgasm hit him hard, like a sledgehammer to the face, except pleasure, like-- he couldn't think. All he could do was ache for this perfect beautiful boy that he wanted. His release on his fingers and the asphalt and he was gasping through it, but unsure when Ronan had let go.
And eventually they got in their cars.
He hadn't ghosted him, hadn't walked away, but there had been a moment, alone in his bedroom where he'd wanted to. Because Ronan had hooks in him, knew things about him, knew how to take him apart. And with everyone else, Kavinsky shied away from it, because no one had ever told him that vulnerability was anything but weakness. He'd sort of expected Ronan to avoid him, so when he doesn't answer his texts for a few days he isn't surprised, even if the feeling it curls in his heart is poison. But he says hello when they see each other at school, even if it's usually with a middle finger.
What does surprise him is that after ignoring his texts, he shows to his party.
And Kavinsky had always rolled his eyes at the idea that making things sexual changed things with people, but he guessed that it was different when you cared. Because Kavinsky looked at Ronan and it felt magnetic- electric- like his heart skipped just from standing close to him. He got him a beer and he made a joke, but nothing felt the same, and they fell together because it was impossible not to. Because K had ducked his head while he talked and Ronan had said something about the bruises and K had said something back: and then they were in a back room, locking the door just so that Ronan could shove him up against it. So he could wrap his long legs around his waist and hold on.
This time they kiss.
This time it feels like they're both desperate, like Ronan needs it as badly as he does, like it's more than curiosity -- they're both pulling at zippers and fabric. And Kavinsky really would have loved to have the other dreamer fuck him up against the door, but he's trying not to rush, not to push too fast. So he gets Ronan laying down on the futon, and lets him watch as he preps himself, even if it's maddeningly slow, far more careful than he usually bothers with. But it means that when he slides down on the other boy's cock, it's slick and easy and so good it makes him whimper. At first it's K riding Ronan, and then it's Ronan's hands bruising hard on his hips, lifting him and pulling him down because he has the upper body strength and Kavinsky hardly weighs anything and they both need it.
This becomes a pattern too -- although Kavinsky does get Ronan to fuck him against a wall, and the sex gets a little less careful. Through the school week Ronan ghosts him and ignores his texts and Kavinsky curses at him across the quad, and snarls insults like filth you'd have to wash off. Things seem the same. Or well, things probably seem the same to Gansey. But every interaction, every time he calls Ronan Princess, every time Ronan shoves him- it crackles with the feelings underneath. And then Ronan shows up at his parties, or the races, and yeah, they usually have sex. But also, more than that, Ronan makes Kavinsky feel things he doesn't have the words for.
He makes him want things he doesn't dare to ask him for.
And that's why Kavinsky thinks that this is probably his fault.
Because this is not one of the days when Ronan acknowledges whatever thing this is between them. But Kavinsky had been hanging out by the dorms, waiting for Swan and Skov, and this kid on the lacrosse team had been flirting with him. He was tall, shoulders for days- but the truth was everyone came up short when he was comparing them to Ronan. But K had laughed and flirted back, although he didn't think that he'd meant it, not really. It was just how he was.
But just how he was meant Ronan had just put his fist in someone's face- which was admittedly far from shocking or unusual. But he'd grabbed Kavinsky's arm, dragged him a few yards to a dark corner where he could shove him up against the wall. Which was where they were now: Ronan's hands on his body and Kavinsky looking up into his blue eyes like they were his world.
And if Ronan had just been pissed, maybe K would have teased him about it, would have told himself it wasn't a big deal, that he was just in a bad mood. Fuck knows it happened enough. But Ronan was jealous in a way that radiated off of him. And that meant he was hurt.
Kavinsky- he hadn't thought about this. He didn't know how to handle this. Maybe most people would have started with sorry, but that wasn't something he really know how to say, let alone how you followed it. He was a little flushed, his face warm not from the kid with the lacrosse stick, but because he couldn't help it when the other dreamer manhandled him.
He reaches up, and carefully dragged fingers softly over Ronan's cheek, his heart racing in his chest. He knows he's gonna fuck this up. That he's already fucked this up, probably. But he wants to try anyway. Because the idea of losing him is intolerable.]
Did I make you jealous, Sweetheart?
[And it would be easy- so easy- for the words to be teasing, the sort of thing that Kavinsky smirked through. But it isn't. His voice is soft, almost sounds concerned if you didn't know it was him saying it.
And he is. Because he didn't want to lose whatever weird thing this is they've been doing over the past several months. He just didn't know where the lines were, what Ronan wanted, and he'd been too scared of losing it all to ask. Because he wants to date him, he wants to hold his stupid hand and make him stupid breakfast and all that bullshit.]
hey jealousy;
If it had been Skov, he could probably have shrugged this off, settled Ronan down, but it wasn't that easy.
This was all his fault really, anyway. For wanting what he thought that he couldn't have, but being unwilling to let go. Even now he wanted to fix this, he wanted to keep him. And months ago, he'd put his hands on him; he'd let Ronan put hands on him, and fuck but he couldn't stop. It had been almost an accident- well, Kavinsky had wanted him from the beginning, so accident wasn't really the right word. But it had been after a race, and he'd lost, and he couldn't even remember what he'd said.
What he did remember was Ronan's fingers around his throat, the way that he'd backed him up against the BMW. Side of the road and no one watching, just a couple abandoned bottles they hadn't finished. K had gasped in a way that wasn't pain and that had seemed to pause the other boy's brain while he tried to catch up. Kavinsky had softly curled his against the skin of Ronan's forearm -- not like he was trying to pull him away, like he was trying to pull him closer.]
Jesus. If you're gonna choke me Lynch, do it like you mean it.
[He'd expected Ronan to pull away, to flinch from the very suggestion of sexuality. And then his head is swimming, and he can't breathe. And Kavinsky shakes, his other hand curling in Ronan's black tanktop, just holding on as his strong fingers press into his throat, his blue eyes watching Kavinsky with an intensity that makes the dreamer burn. K is hard in his jeans, and he almost thinks that Ronan is going to choke him out like this, and the idea is more hot than scary, which is probably fucked, but he's always been a mess. But Ronan lets his fingers ease, stroking almost affectionately against his skin- where the bruises will be later.
Kavinsky is ruined; although he always had been for Ronan. His voice low, a little raspy from the way Ronan had just choked the breath from him.]
--Do it again.
[Things escalate, like they always do with them, and that was probably Kavinsky's fault, too.
The way that Ronan ended up sitting in the car with the door open and space enough between his long legs for Kavinsky's slim body. He was on his knees in the gravel, his mouth around Ronan's cock, lips slick and eager as Ronan's hands almost tenderly hold the sides of his face. Kavinsky slides all the way down, letting the girth of the other boy's cock slide down his throat like he was made for this, and if he could have grinned at the way that he cursed he would have. And Ronan carefully held him like that, not letting him pull back to breathe, but his fingers stroked against his dark hair.
It's maybe the softest they've ever been allowed to be with one another.
K's eyes went fuzzy, but he didn't look away from the other boy. His sight flickering dark at the edges, narrowing down to almost tunnel-vision as his throat flexed around Ronan's cock. His body struggled to breathe and Kavinsky struggled to stay like that until Ronan pulled him back and he could gasp for breath a few times. And then he'd lean back in like he needed this, eyes glassy and almost desperate -- it wasn't like he believed he'd get a second chance. It was a rhythm between them, but not one that could last very long.
Kavinsky let Ronan's release slide down his throat, taking in the way he tasted and the way that he felt. He knew he'd probably be dreaming about this for years. And then-- Ronan did not shove his hand down K's jeans or anything. No, instead he traced fingers over K's wet mouth, and then Ro was carefully choking him again, breathing a soft request into the shadows between them. He couldn't get his jeans open fast enough, shamefully hard and aching and showing him what he did to him; it the sort of careless that came from being so close to getting off as the boy he liked choked him in a way that felt as sweet as people kissed in movies.
The other dreamer pressed fingers into the soft skin of his throat, leaving bruises like fingerprints at the base of his neck. And Kavinsky shook and trembled and whined even with no sound to it. He hardly had to touch himself at all like this, just the slightest brush of his fingertips and then his orgasm hit him hard, like a sledgehammer to the face, except pleasure, like-- he couldn't think. All he could do was ache for this perfect beautiful boy that he wanted. His release on his fingers and the asphalt and he was gasping through it, but unsure when Ronan had let go.
And eventually they got in their cars.
He hadn't ghosted him, hadn't walked away, but there had been a moment, alone in his bedroom where he'd wanted to. Because Ronan had hooks in him, knew things about him, knew how to take him apart. And with everyone else, Kavinsky shied away from it, because no one had ever told him that vulnerability was anything but weakness. He'd sort of expected Ronan to avoid him, so when he doesn't answer his texts for a few days he isn't surprised, even if the feeling it curls in his heart is poison. But he says hello when they see each other at school, even if it's usually with a middle finger.
What does surprise him is that after ignoring his texts, he shows to his party.
And Kavinsky had always rolled his eyes at the idea that making things sexual changed things with people, but he guessed that it was different when you cared. Because Kavinsky looked at Ronan and it felt magnetic- electric- like his heart skipped just from standing close to him. He got him a beer and he made a joke, but nothing felt the same, and they fell together because it was impossible not to. Because K had ducked his head while he talked and Ronan had said something about the bruises and K had said something back: and then they were in a back room, locking the door just so that Ronan could shove him up against it. So he could wrap his long legs around his waist and hold on.
This time they kiss.
This time it feels like they're both desperate, like Ronan needs it as badly as he does, like it's more than curiosity -- they're both pulling at zippers and fabric. And Kavinsky really would have loved to have the other dreamer fuck him up against the door, but he's trying not to rush, not to push too fast. So he gets Ronan laying down on the futon, and lets him watch as he preps himself, even if it's maddeningly slow, far more careful than he usually bothers with. But it means that when he slides down on the other boy's cock, it's slick and easy and so good it makes him whimper. At first it's K riding Ronan, and then it's Ronan's hands bruising hard on his hips, lifting him and pulling him down because he has the upper body strength and Kavinsky hardly weighs anything and they both need it.
This becomes a pattern too -- although Kavinsky does get Ronan to fuck him against a wall, and the sex gets a little less careful. Through the school week Ronan ghosts him and ignores his texts and Kavinsky curses at him across the quad, and snarls insults like filth you'd have to wash off. Things seem the same. Or well, things probably seem the same to Gansey. But every interaction, every time he calls Ronan Princess, every time Ronan shoves him- it crackles with the feelings underneath. And then Ronan shows up at his parties, or the races, and yeah, they usually have sex. But also, more than that, Ronan makes Kavinsky feel things he doesn't have the words for.
He makes him want things he doesn't dare to ask him for.
And that's why Kavinsky thinks that this is probably his fault.
Because this is not one of the days when Ronan acknowledges whatever thing this is between them. But Kavinsky had been hanging out by the dorms, waiting for Swan and Skov, and this kid on the lacrosse team had been flirting with him. He was tall, shoulders for days- but the truth was everyone came up short when he was comparing them to Ronan. But K had laughed and flirted back, although he didn't think that he'd meant it, not really. It was just how he was.
But just how he was meant Ronan had just put his fist in someone's face- which was admittedly far from shocking or unusual. But he'd grabbed Kavinsky's arm, dragged him a few yards to a dark corner where he could shove him up against the wall. Which was where they were now: Ronan's hands on his body and Kavinsky looking up into his blue eyes like they were his world.
And if Ronan had just been pissed, maybe K would have teased him about it, would have told himself it wasn't a big deal, that he was just in a bad mood. Fuck knows it happened enough. But Ronan was jealous in a way that radiated off of him. And that meant he was hurt.
Kavinsky- he hadn't thought about this. He didn't know how to handle this. Maybe most people would have started with sorry, but that wasn't something he really know how to say, let alone how you followed it. He was a little flushed, his face warm not from the kid with the lacrosse stick, but because he couldn't help it when the other dreamer manhandled him.
He reaches up, and carefully dragged fingers softly over Ronan's cheek, his heart racing in his chest. He knows he's gonna fuck this up. That he's already fucked this up, probably. But he wants to try anyway. Because the idea of losing him is intolerable.]
Did I make you jealous, Sweetheart?
[And it would be easy- so easy- for the words to be teasing, the sort of thing that Kavinsky smirked through. But it isn't. His voice is soft, almost sounds concerned if you didn't know it was him saying it.
And he is. Because he didn't want to lose whatever weird thing this is they've been doing over the past several months. He just didn't know where the lines were, what Ronan wanted, and he'd been too scared of losing it all to ask. Because he wants to date him, he wants to hold his stupid hand and make him stupid breakfast and all that bullshit.]