post for psls;

[threesecrets]

 

✞ m/m only
✞ no invitation needed

✞ feel free to just drop an idea
✞ if you wanna do adam & ronan chat me up first
✞ safeaslife#0150 or PM, at your leisure

Comments

[threesecrets]

[At least this way when Ronan fails, he'll have company -- even a matching set of disappointment.

He considers the questions. He also considers how inebriated he is -- mostly hungover, he decides. Not nearly as intoxicated as he'd been on some nights he'd driven back home, and he wasn't going to lie to use it as an excuse. Driving to Henrietta was hardly a problem for him, if arguably ill-advised.

He didn't know what he wanted.

But company sounded better than not. And weed wasn't a bad idea- a little bit, anyway, to kill the headache. Better than getting black out drunk again out of frustration with the idea of losing things. That he had to make choices, decisions. No one to take responsibility for them except himself, and that was the fucking worst thing.]

yeah count me out for spin the bottle
you two can go for it tho

but fuck
sure
bring your weed
and i guess swan too

ive got drinks and stuff

[Declan would probably punch him for this idiot idea hard enough to make his face snap- it'd be one of the rare moments when Ronan remembered he was a Lynch. But Declan was in DC, and it was Wednesday which gave him plenty of time to clean shit up before he showed up for church on Sunday. Of course, Ronan's brother scarcely needed to entertain the idea of other people being involved for Ronan to have made a wreck of things. What Declan really wanted was for Ronan to clean himself up, and that wasn't happening any time soon.

He wasn't expecting Matthew to stop by, and he wouldn't honestly be as fond of the boys as he is if he thought they'd do anything too much worse for the kid's health than Aglionby dorm life achieved already.

There's something happening here, even if Ronan isn't the sort to put a label on it or spell it out. An attempt at something. His fingers twitch and he wants to text Kavinsky, but instead he sends Skov a GPS ping for the Barns.]

[obedientdog]

[Careful what you said, Ronan; Skov didn't have any shame. Swan was...marginally better, at least, but he could easily be convinced to go along with whatever his boyfriend Skov wanted.]

gr8!
i'll bring plenty
and Swan

[A few minutes later, Skov texted again-]

he'd probably get jealous if i left him out

[Which wouldn't surprise anyone who actually knew Swan; the blonde was incredibly jealous when it came to other people and Skov, sometimes even when it was just hanging out. Way back when he'd first introduced Skov to Kavinsky, it'd taken him the longest time to get over being jealous at the mere idea of the two of them fucking around. Or anyone and Skov fucking around. It didn't help that Skov didn't seem to be easily bothered by the jealousy, like he knew that Swan was wrapped around his finger no matter what he did.

A reasonable amount of time later, Skov and Swan arrived at the Barns in Swan's Golf; it'd been easier than driving separately, and it'd allowed Skov to play navigator for Swan. Besides, one of them had a habit of getting blackout drunk at the drop of a hat and it wasn't Swan. If Swan was around, at least, maybe Skov wouldn't get completely hammered before K's party later.

Sliding out of the car, Skov blinked up at the house. It seemed like way more of a home than the place his parents had, but maybe that had more to do with how he got along with his family than the house itself.

He wore a pair of cargo shorts that showed just a hint of the matching tattoos on his thighs. There were also bruises and scabs on his knees and one shin from a recent wipe out when he'd been skateboarding. A tattoo of roses spread across the left side of his neck, and more tattoos adorned his right hand fingers and left wrist. A silver hoop was pierced through the left side of his nose and he wore teal gauges in his ears. His shirt proudly proclaimed 'sinners are winners'.

In comparison, Swan looked almost respectable, except for how ripped his jeans were. They weren't even designer ripped jeans; they were ripped from how old they were and all of the shit he'd gotten into. He glanced over at Skov as he closed the car door, shrugging when Skov returned his glance with a questioning look.

Scuffing his sneaker in the dirt, Skov double-checked one of his pockets for the beat-up tin he kept his weed and joints in, then headed for the front door. He trailed his hand along the railing as he walked up the porch steps, then knocked on the door when he reached it. Swan lingered a few steps behind him, tall enough that he was almost looming over Skov. He was tall--taller than Kavinsky, than Proko, maybe even taller than Ronan. Of course, the image wasn't helped by the fact that Skov wasn't the tallest person himself; out of the pack he was only taller than Jiang, though that wasn't much of a feat.]