[God, if he wasn't so entirely anchored in every breath, every touch, every whisper of possibility, Kavinsky would think he was dreaming. Surely he had to be- he wasn't the sort of boy that got what he wanted, what he needed, what he ached for. Ronan wanted him here, he wanted him. Enough that he's unzipping his pants and tugging them down his legs. He maybe doesn't gets them all the way off before he's grabbing K's ass, but the other dreamer isn't about to complain.
He gasps into the kiss, a murmur as he shivers at the feeling of how Ronan's fingers squeeze gently against him. He's dreamt about this, fantasized about this. He's gotten himself off more times than he'd like to admit thinking about Ronan Lynch, about the other boy putting hands on K's skin because he wanted to, wanted him. And now here they are and this-- it feels like something to live for. Like something that can hold him to the ground.
Kavinsky takes advantage of the moment where Ronan pulls back to help get him topless too, yanking his shirt up and off as quickly as he can manage before tossing it in the vague direction to join Kavinsky's own. He shimmies out of his pants while he's at it, kicking them off of his ankles-- and then Ronan was sliding fingers against his hips, thumbs tracing over the bony crest and he shivers. He leans into his hands, a soft sound of want and pleasure on his mouth.
He curls his hands against Ronan's shoulders, one cupping at the back of his head. But rather than immediately pulling him in for a kiss, he just looks at him- dark eyes on those bright blues. Like he needs to catch his breath, like he's almost overwhelmed just to be this close to the other boy. And he is. Because he loves Ronan. Because K is soft too, in ways that hardly anyone knew. Starved for affection, for being wanted, for feeling good enough. And when he smiles at Ronan it's a little helpless, a little sweet.
He's a little nervous too, but he'd never admit to that, so he brushes it off with his typical bravado. He leans in, nipping lightly against Ronan's ear, his voice low and filthy.]
You still want in my secret place, Lynch?
[He'd made a joke about it back in the dream field. But with Kavinsky, joking about it didn't mean he wasn't serious. He'd wanted it back then, too. Now, it's just a softer way of saying do you want to fuck me- or maybe just admitting that he wants it too. He can't help kissing him first, not quite giving him space to answer.]
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He gasps into the kiss, a murmur as he shivers at the feeling of how Ronan's fingers squeeze gently against him. He's dreamt about this, fantasized about this. He's gotten himself off more times than he'd like to admit thinking about Ronan Lynch, about the other boy putting hands on K's skin because he wanted to, wanted him. And now here they are and this-- it feels like something to live for. Like something that can hold him to the ground.
Kavinsky takes advantage of the moment where Ronan pulls back to help get him topless too, yanking his shirt up and off as quickly as he can manage before tossing it in the vague direction to join Kavinsky's own. He shimmies out of his pants while he's at it, kicking them off of his ankles-- and then Ronan was sliding fingers against his hips, thumbs tracing over the bony crest and he shivers. He leans into his hands, a soft sound of want and pleasure on his mouth.
He curls his hands against Ronan's shoulders, one cupping at the back of his head. But rather than immediately pulling him in for a kiss, he just looks at him- dark eyes on those bright blues. Like he needs to catch his breath, like he's almost overwhelmed just to be this close to the other boy. And he is. Because he loves Ronan. Because K is soft too, in ways that hardly anyone knew. Starved for affection, for being wanted, for feeling good enough. And when he smiles at Ronan it's a little helpless, a little sweet.
He's a little nervous too, but he'd never admit to that, so he brushes it off with his typical bravado. He leans in, nipping lightly against Ronan's ear, his voice low and filthy.]
You still want in my secret place, Lynch?
[He'd made a joke about it back in the dream field. But with Kavinsky, joking about it didn't mean he wasn't serious. He'd wanted it back then, too. Now, it's just a softer way of saying do you want to fuck me- or maybe just admitting that he wants it too. He can't help kissing him first, not quite giving him space to answer.]