threesecrets | post for psls;

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[He knew there were reasons that he has pushed Kavinsky away, but with the high of it, the warmth of his body against his and how their skin fit together, it was impossible to remember what any of those reasons were. He was here, here, here. His fingertips tracing over the hooks of his tattoo, and their mouths almost melt together.

The kiss is a little sweet, but not gentle. It's lust and desire, tongue pressed to tongue, hips pressing to hips, seeking friction, pressure-- more. Ronan's only in a pair of thin cotton pajama pants, so there's not much between then when K reaches between their bodies, doesn't take much to shove fabric out of the way. And then his fingers are wrapped around his cock and the moan that tears itself from his chest is wounded with pleasure, shameless need.

It's good, so good that he can't help but lean into it, baring his throat as he tips his head back. Kavinsky's mouth kisses against his throat, the way his tongue glides against skin all wet and hot and real. It's not enough, but he doesn't really know what to ask for. His fingers dragging against skin, a slight scrape of flat nails as he comes unraveled, can't help himself.]

God, please-

[He doesn't even really know what he's asking for, doesn't know what he needs, but he's sure somehow that Kavinsky does. That he's somehow better in reality, better like this where his fingers press to skin and make Ronan writhe, jerking helplessly up into the grip of his hand.]

[Kavinsky knew exactly what he was doing and what he was going to do. He knew what Ronan needed--what they both needed. He could get Ronan off just like this, but that wasn't what he really wanted, no matter how good he felt in Kavinsky's hand. No matter how tempted he was to just jerk him off.

Smirking against Ronan's neck, he worked his way down to his collarbone, mostly kissing, nipping here and there with teeth. The sounds Ronan made had him feeling like fire, like he could do anything, and the scrape of his nails made him shiver. He circled his thumb around the head of Ronan's cock before stroking down to the base, nice and slow, more of a tease than anything. Lifting his head a little, he said-]

Tell me you have lube.

[Because he wanted more than this, and he couldn't just pop off to dreamland to get his own right now. He was, for the moment, reliant on whatever Ronan had. He'd change that in the future--he was always prepared for everything, so long as that 'everything' was sex or drugs.

While he waited for an answer, he mouthed along Ronan's jaw, taking his time despite how desperate he was, how much he ached. He could be patient, sometimes, when it suited him.]

[Ronan couldn't help the way that he whined as Kavinsky slid down his neck, each nip of his teeth drawing a hot sound from his mouth, kisses making him shiver with the warmth. Even if they'd managed to get here before, he never would have been so raw and honest about it. But K had seen his dreams, they'd been in dreams together, all fingers and touch and hands and mouths and pleasure; one creature or two, starved and hungry. What could he possibly have left to hide?

So he lets K hear him, lets himself touch him and cling to him and want in a way that's visceral and burning. They want the same thing, now. K was under his skin, and here and he needed it. He arches into his grip on his dick, the way that he strokes slow, pleasure and friction. But it just makes him want more. And then K is asking about lube and he tries to make his brain work.

He doesn't answer with words, but manages to shift enough that he can tug open the drawer of the side table, and it's lotion and not lube, but it's the closest thing he has. He hadn't exactly planned for this, hadn't exactly done this before. Not like this, where it was real, though K would be forgiven for not noticing that with the tenor of his dreams.]

Here--

[He presses the small bottle into his other hand, a low gasp of want as Kavinsky's mouth presses to his jaw. He looks into his eyes, tugs him up so that he can kiss him, slotting their mouths together again. There's no way to deny that he wanted it, that he was complicit in this. But he couldn't be bothered to give a shit about the aftermath when all he could think of was how much he needed him and how good his hands felt on his skin.]

[He drank in every sound Ronan made, every move he made. Every little thing was fuel for Kavinsky's fire, burning him hotter and brighter. He practically hummed with energy, with aliveness. This had everything to do with their shared want and desire and nothing to do with wanting to impress Ronan. Maybe a little bit to do with wanting to please the boy who'd dreamed him to life, and he wondered, for a moment, if that had been how Prokopenko felt about things. He pushed those thoughts away though because he didn't want to think about anything or anyone but Ronan right now.

Kavinsky would accept this offering, the lotion. It was close enough and it would do the job. He didn't get a good look at the bottle for a long minute though; he was too busy kissing Ronan and couldn't bring himself to pull his mouth away. Eventually, he did, at the same time reluctantly letting go of Ronan's dick so he could take the lotion and get a better look at it.]

Good enough.

[He decided.

With even more reluctance, he slid to the side so he could hook his fingers around the top of Ronan's pajama pants and start pulling them down.] Hips up. [Because it was easier that way, and he could pull them down more smoothly, dumping them on the floor. While he was at it, he shucked his own boxers, kicking them in a random direction. Then he popped open the lotion, smearing it on his fingers before pressing them between Ronan's asscheeks, sliding just one into him, slowly.]

[He needed this, needed him, he needed K's breath on his skin, his mouth against his own, the way their kisses were desperate and demanding. Just another way of saying more. He was all fire, all lust and desire and the ache for the impossible boy that he'd dreamed back into his life. He takes the lotion and his fingers pull away from his cock, and it makes him whimper in the back of his throat with how much he craves it.

He cooperates, lifting his hips to make it easier for him to pull down his pajamas, leaving Ronan naked and exposed like this. But caught up in the moment he isn't worried about it for the moment, just so long as the other boy was close. As long as Kavinsky was going to touch him. He gasps, sharp and hot and breathless as his fingers slick with lotion press against him, one finger pressing slowly into him and he trembles with the feel of it. He has to fight to remember how to breathe, thighs spread and he groans with the feeling of it.]

Fuck, K..

[His voice is all heat, face tilting to the side like he can hide the fact of how new to this he is. As if Kavinsky hadn't been in his dreams, hadn't seen how Ronan's dreams of desire were all malformed things of wanting without the shape to put to it, until K had shown him. This isn't much different, but it feels different, the reality of it, the way that it's hot on his skin.]

Please--

[He needs him, needs more. He wants Kavinsky to ruin him in all the ways he can't say, needs to hold onto him. That way that in dreams bodies could become the same, and here, he still wants as close as they're allowed.]

[Kavinsky was well aware. He was painfully aware. There was a reason he wasn't diving into things as fast as he would be normally. That reason was thus; he wanted to ruin Ronan, not do real damage. He might have been primarily concerned with his own wants and needs, but he wanted things to be good for Ronan, too. That was half the fun. So he took his time, no matter how much he wanted to rush, how impatient he was. He moved that one finger lazily, pressing a kiss to Ronan's stomach, his hip, biting gently.]

I'm getting there.

[It was a promise, one he was going to keep.

He licked up the underside of Ronan's cock, to tease him more than anything. Because he could. Because he wanted to. It was an excuse to get his mouth on him, however briefly. Even now, he was giving in to some of his impatience, pressing in a second finger slowly, keeping an eye on Ronan's face, making sure it wasn't too much too fast. He could be considerate. Sometimes.

Kavinsky ached with want and need. Soon, he told himself. Soon. Making sure Ronan was ready for it--as ready as he could be for K--would be worth it. Attention drifting a moment, he bit Ronan's thigh, not gently. Not too hard, but hard enough.]

[Ronan is not a boy built for patience, especially not like this, not when his skin is smoldering and he feels like raked-over embers, all raw and burning. And K takes his time, his finger slick as he moves that single digit inside of him. He gasps at the way that his mouth presses to his stomach, then drops to his hip, Ronan's voice shifting into a helpless sort of whine as the other boy bites against his skin. Not hard enough to mark him, but enough that he could feel it. And Ronan was every bit as weak for biting as all of K's dog jokes had ever implied.

He can't help being frustrated, even if it's out of consideration. He feels like he's vibrating with desire. But K licks against his dick and his head goes blissfully blank for a moment. It makes him pliant as the other boy adds another finger, and Ronan lets him press it into his body, his breath uneven and already sort of wrecked. The friction of it, the slick slide of his touch is an ache, and he's hungry for it. His heartbeat is all need, and he lets himself trust that K knows what he wants, and wont be too much of a jerk to give it to him. It's a sort of trust that comes from shared dreams.

He's on edge with anticipation, soft murmurs and whimpers with every shift of his hand. Those dangerous blue eyes clouded ever with desire and lust, all of it for Kavinsky. He'd told him that life wasn't drugs and sex the last time he'd seen him, and his body arches into his touch like an invitation to show him why he was wrong.

Roan moans, helpless at the way his teeth bite into his thigh and it leaves him shivering. That one he thinks will mark, at least for a day or two, hard enough that it makes his hips jerk, has him pressing back against his fingers. A sort of knot of tension in his stomach as K stretches him, opens him up for him. Ronan tight around his fingers and all flushed and unbelievably turned on. No one's ever touched him like this, and the way K gets him ready is almost brain-melting.

They'd touched in dreams, but it was all metaphor and fantasy, wasn't like this, the reality, how visceral it is with heat and promise. The way that K's fingers inside of him make him feel like his skin is boiling. His voice a mess of muttered pleas, catching and breaking on the words as he trembles, needy.]

[Neither was Kavinsky, though taking his time right now had far less to do with patience and more to do with making sure Ronan was ready. And maybe teasing him a little. Kavinsky had dreamed about this, not just with Ronan but earlier than that, during the first time he'd been alive. All the times he'd taunted Ronan, every snide comment he'd ever made, had been partly out of jealousy. For so long he'd wanted Ronan for himself, for them to walk side by side as kings, to have Ronan under his hands like this. They could have done anything, been anything, but he had a second chance now.

He scissored his fingers, kissing along Ronan's thigh for the simple sake of getting his mouth on him. He was half tempted to suck him off, to make him cum like that. But he also wanted to make him wait for it. If things went well he'd have plenty of chances to get on his knees for Ronan, something he didn't do for just anyone. He usually prefered other people on their knees for him. He'd make an exception for Ronan. He'd make a lot of exceptions.]

You've gotta relax.

[He knew. He knew; easier said than done. Especially with how worked up Ronan was, which Kavinsky was never not going to feel smug about. It was all because of him and how much Ronan wanted him. He twisted his fingers, pushing them in deeper, scissored them again. Slow and steady. But his impatience was growing and there was only so much longer he could keep doing this before he just gave up on fingering Ronan.]

Should I make you beg for it?

[As if Ronan hadn't been already, both verbally and nonverbally, begging him with his body, with the way he trembled. Kavinsky was well aware of how much Ronan wanted this, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to be a shit about it if given even a sliver of a chance.]

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