"Anything change lately?" He asks, trying to wonder what could impair Kavinsky's pretty supernatural ability. Seems like it's a bad sign if he can't control it. He still remembers what they set fire to in that dumpster not too long ago.
"I don't have any advice for stopping them. I'm still dealing with getting used to dreams again too, even after a year." He murmurs. "You want another beer?"
Rather than answering, Kavinsky tucks his cigarette between his lips and reaches to pull Tate closer to him. He fucking hates sleeping alone and this kind of shit puts him in a mood anyway. He manages to remember to take the cigarette out of his mouth before he kisses Tate's neck.
"There's no stopping them. I mean, I can fuckin' drug myself into a stupor." Which he can definitely do. But that potentially means even less control.
Tate holds his cigarette away when Kavinsky dips close, feeling his lips against his neck - craning it to give him a little extra space. His hand touches Kavinsky's elbow and - moments like this are nice. Quiet, secluded from the world. Tate's able to let his defenses down, to be intimate and open with how he craves touch and appreciates it.
"Nothing helps?" He asks, even though the answers been laid out. "There's gotta be something you could try. Someone who could help."
"Lobotomy might do it. Or it might just fuck up everything more." He doesn't know how that'd work, if he'd just lose his ability to dream or if suddenly he wouldn't be able to control it at all. Or care. Kavinsky sighs and presses his mouth to Tate's neck again, just kind of staying like that.
Was there anyone that could help?
"Adam, maybe," he says after a long moment. "Nick. Not sure if their help is what I want, though."
"Last thing you need is to owe more shit to Adam," Tate mutters - still perhaps a bit prickly over the last thing that went down with that regard. Adam's got magic and talent, sure, but he was pretty fine keeping Kavinsky under his thumb. He doesn't know about Nick, really.
"I can keep my ear to the ground, see if there are other options."
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"I don't have any advice for stopping them. I'm still dealing with getting used to dreams again too, even after a year." He murmurs. "You want another beer?"
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"There's no stopping them. I mean, I can fuckin' drug myself into a stupor." Which he can definitely do. But that potentially means even less control.
no subject
"Nothing helps?" He asks, even though the answers been laid out. "There's gotta be something you could try. Someone who could help."
no subject
Was there anyone that could help?
"Adam, maybe," he says after a long moment. "Nick. Not sure if their help is what I want, though."
no subject
"I can keep my ear to the ground, see if there are other options."