[Ronan doesn't regret it. He should, but Ronan did not always want the things that other people thought were best for him. There's been too much time, too many words, too many impossible things that passed between them in dreams until want became an ache under his skin, desire like a fever.
The only real regret is that he hasn't figured out how to unleash dreams from their dreamers yet, which ties them together as surely as Matthew. He doesn't really know what Kavinsky is: a forgery, a ghost, an echo in the ley line. He doubts he'll ever really figure it out- isn't sure Kavinsky would want him to. He rolls over and straddles Ronan's body, hands on his chest that he can feel without being able to do anything about.
He doesn't regret this. Or not yet, at least. Doesn't know if he can temper his worse urges, or even just be here to ride them with him. And he doesn't know if it's enough to keep him from wanting to burn the world.
But for the moment K is kissing him, contact that's warm and almost sweet, fingers pressed into his jaw. It takes minutes, where the other teen can shift those kisses from sweet to filthy, insistent, lust instead of just desire. And then he can move, and all he can think about is touching him. One hand coming up to curl at the back of his neck, a shiver running through him as he was suddenly an active participant.
He kissed him back, want that was like a wildfire. Not a mistake. Maybe not an entirely coherent desire, but it had been real. The way that the touched was different than in dreams. Rarely this literal, and the passage of time always strange and amorphous.]
Fuck, K-- [A curse gasped against his mouth in between kisses that almost bruise his mouth.
He should push him away, collect his thoughts until he can get his bearings. But he can taste him on his lips, feel his heartbeat against his ribs. It's almost overwhelming, the idea of having made him, or even just pulled him from a dream like this. All his best creations had been when he'd been young, when anything had been possible. But Kavinsky is real and here and vital. He's sure it's a sin, but it feels worth it. They'd shared too much for him to pull away.
At some point he'll have to explain him, and he wont have the words. But that's fine. A problem for later. Right now he had Kavinsky on top of him and his skin felt molten.]
no subject
The only real regret is that he hasn't figured out how to unleash dreams from their dreamers yet, which ties them together as surely as Matthew. He doesn't really know what Kavinsky is: a forgery, a ghost, an echo in the ley line. He doubts he'll ever really figure it out- isn't sure Kavinsky would want him to. He rolls over and straddles Ronan's body, hands on his chest that he can feel without being able to do anything about.
He doesn't regret this. Or not yet, at least. Doesn't know if he can temper his worse urges, or even just be here to ride them with him. And he doesn't know if it's enough to keep him from wanting to burn the world.
But for the moment K is kissing him, contact that's warm and almost sweet, fingers pressed into his jaw. It takes minutes, where the other teen can shift those kisses from sweet to filthy, insistent, lust instead of just desire. And then he can move, and all he can think about is touching him. One hand coming up to curl at the back of his neck, a shiver running through him as he was suddenly an active participant.
He kissed him back, want that was like a wildfire. Not a mistake. Maybe not an entirely coherent desire, but it had been real. The way that the touched was different than in dreams. Rarely this literal, and the passage of time always strange and amorphous.]
Fuck, K-- [A curse gasped against his mouth in between kisses that almost bruise his mouth.
He should push him away, collect his thoughts until he can get his bearings. But he can taste him on his lips, feel his heartbeat against his ribs. It's almost overwhelming, the idea of having made him, or even just pulled him from a dream like this. All his best creations had been when he'd been young, when anything had been possible. But Kavinsky is real and here and vital. He's sure it's a sin, but it feels worth it. They'd shared too much for him to pull away.
At some point he'll have to explain him, and he wont have the words. But that's fine. A problem for later. Right now he had Kavinsky on top of him and his skin felt molten.]