[kavinsky tastes like cigarettes and savory snacks and burny liquor. maybe also of gasoline, but that's an impression left by association rather than anything that's actually inside of kavinsky's mouth. the mitsubishi is still parked just outside the chainlink, a same-faced specter in this world just like the last.
he's a better kisser now than he would have been last year, thanks to the tutelage of the variety of random men he's fucked over the course of his stay in the world. which is probably most of the reason why ronan doesn't find a slimy tongue shoved so far down into the back of his mouth that he gags. kavinsky still goes for it sooner than he should, probably, but his licks are more like hard candy stored for ronan to store up inside the wall of his cheek. the idea being ronan will still taste him later, undertone to toothpaste and coffee. and maybe even noah!
kavinsky leans in. it isn't how he'd spent months picturing back at home. he'd thought, maybe the boy's bathroom some time, ronan scared but wanting it too bad not to. or he'd show up at a party, drunk with a headlight out and without gansey, still miserable, too fucked up to feel it and willing to try anything to feel better— and somehow unwilling still. fucking catholics. tonight, he hadn't pictured anything, really. he hasn't pictured much since he died the first time, and the second had scratched out most of what was left.
but this is nice, in the only way kavinsky has ever cared about 'nice.' he puts his other arm around ronan's neck, half because ronan's too tall, and half just because.]
cw mention of imagined dubcon
he's a better kisser now than he would have been last year, thanks to the tutelage of the variety of random men he's fucked over the course of his stay in the world. which is probably most of the reason why ronan doesn't find a slimy tongue shoved so far down into the back of his mouth that he gags. kavinsky still goes for it sooner than he should, probably, but his licks are more like hard candy stored for ronan to store up inside the wall of his cheek. the idea being ronan will still taste him later, undertone to toothpaste and coffee. and maybe even noah!
kavinsky leans in. it isn't how he'd spent months picturing back at home. he'd thought, maybe the boy's bathroom some time, ronan scared but wanting it too bad not to. or he'd show up at a party, drunk with a headlight out and without gansey, still miserable, too fucked up to feel it and willing to try anything to feel better— and somehow unwilling still. fucking catholics. tonight, he hadn't pictured anything, really. he hasn't pictured much since he died the first time, and the second had scratched out most of what was left.
but this is nice, in the only way kavinsky has ever cared about 'nice.' he puts his other arm around ronan's neck, half because ronan's too tall, and half just because.]