Nine at night the following day, Kavinsky is waiting in a room at the Stay & Play in the Up. It's near the elevators and he's made it clear that he's expecting a guest and that they should be escorted up. The best he can afford, apparently, is one of the penthouse suites. Kavinsky himself doesn't quite look like he belongs there. But he can afford it.
He's already thrown his jacket and hoodie over one of the couches and he has a drink in hand when Ransom finally arrives. He cracks a grin.
"Hey, stud. Come check out these pictures and tell me if I'm on track."
Ransom is in the clothes he'd arrived in but fortunately he was able to get them cleaned and pressed for the occasion. The soap available in his shitty apartment's bathroom made his skin dry but the scent was a mix of spices that he didn't mind so much. He doesn't ask which hotel. No, he goes to the best and stops at the desk to give Kavinsky's name. Good, they're on the same page. When he gets to the room he pushes the door open and clicks it shut with a snap behind him.
Hands on his hips, he raises a brow at stud.
"Right. Two things." He slides his glasses off, folds and tucks them in his coat pocket. "It's Ransom."
His scarf and coat come next, dropped over the back of a chair before he moves across the room to stand in front of Kavinsky. Ransom leans in to snag the picture of the car closest to what he wants.
The man that walks in looks like a certain kind of preppy fuckboy that most of the guys at Aglionby will probably grow up to be. Kavinsky just grins at the correction. Ransom? Hell of a fuckin' name.
He takes the picture back and studies it for a moment, then nods. He tosses the rest into a trash can and leaves the chosen one on the table. Then he turns his full attention to the man in front of him.
"Ransom," he echoes. "You're getting a real good bed out of this and a Porsche. You really wanna get picky about what I call you?"
He lifts an eyebrow and picks up his glass.
"You want a drink? Any other special requests about the car? Drug of choice?"
Trustfund playboy. Spoiled brat. Preppy fuckboy. He's been a lot of things. It wouldn't bother him to be called any version of those. Ransom takes the time Kavinsky's throwing the other pictures away to further invade his space, leaving just enough room for the guy to drink from his glass if he chose to.
"Yes and why shouldn't I? You agreed to the arrangement. We never said I had to take any shit you felt like dishing out."
He won't be walked all over. ...unless Kavinsky is able to really take him in hand but he won't hold his breath. That's never happened before. Isn't likely to happen here.
"No to all three."
Ransom isn't here to get drunk or high and he'll customize the car on his own terms, in his own time. He reaches out and rests his finger under Kavinsky's chin, tipping his head up. He was attractive. Young. Reminded him of someone or a type of someone that he knows.
He doesn't flinch or otherwise shy away when he finds this guy suddenly in his personal bubble, holding his chin. Kavinsky makes it a point to finish his drink and he manages to do it without breaking eye contact. He sets the glass down decisively.
"Right to business?" Then that grin cracks his face again and he pulls back. Kavinsky peels his shirt off as he walks backward into the bedroom of the suite. The bed is big, likely luxurious, and still made. There's lube on the nightstand. There's even condoms if Ransom feels like safety is an issue.
Kavinsky tosses his shirt.
"I like a man that doesn't stand on pretense. Even if you're not into party favors."
It was impressive - all that self control. Most people twice, triple, his age don't have the willpower to purposefully stand still when someone was trying to intimidate them. Ransom wouldn't call it testing Kavinsky but he does want to get the general gist of what he's made of. He drops his hand as Kavinsky pulls back, eyelashes lowered as he watches him tug his shirt off and walk backward toward the bedroom.
"Never said I wasn't." Assumptions, Kavinsky, don't make them. "Only not now."
What did his uncle say? Yes, that's right. Ransom was 'into' all the fashionable drugs. What was popular that day when the mood struck. But Ransom had a healthy amount of common sense at his disposal. If you want to fuck a stranger you don't do it high. That's how you get stabbed or robbed or worse.
"If we fuck and it has nothing to do with payment, we can revisit the idea."
Ransom crosses his arms and pulls his sweater over his head, laying it aside. He takes more care with this piece of clothing ( it's the only sweater he has and it's his favorite ) before following Kavinsky into the bedroom. Nice bed. Clean, expensive sheets. He flicks the button of his pants open so he can push them over and down his hips as he kicks his shoes to the side.
Ransom might be approaching this from a common sense angle, but Kavinsky isn't remotely sober. He's never sober if he can help it. But he's become very good at functioning regardless.
"I said I wanted to see how good your dick game is and I meant it." He grins and shifts his hips. Kavinsky's gaze drifts over Ransom as he starts undressing, taking in what's on offer. "So you're gonna fuck me. Nothing's off the table until it is."
Kavinsky shoves his jeans down and leaves them on the floor, leaving him in just his boxer briefs as he eases back onto the bed.
Ransom's eyes narrow in on Kavinsky's face, flicking up from his mouth to meet his gaze. There's a playful grin on the guy's face but Ransom can still tell that he's serious about what he's said. "Nothing's off the table until it is." He liked the way that sounded. It's surprisingly self-aware, he assumed, and that's kind of a turn on.
"Honestly, I prefer to keep the actual sex straightforward. You know, anal, blowjob, handjob. Straightforward." No dicks in weird things. He's not experimenting like that right now and he's okay with that. "But everything else is on the table until it isn't."
He crosses the room and drops a knee to the bed.
"Control, I like being in it." Ransom presses a hand to the center of Kavinsky's chest and pushes him back. "Rules, I like them being followed." He shifts forward onto the bed and swings a knee over Kavinsky's legs, straddling his hips. Their thighs brush but Ransom keeps their contact points low. "Rules, I like them broken." He's contrary, sue him.
There's nothing wrong with straightforward. Kavinsky grins as he listens, dark eyes intent as Ransom joins him on the bed. Control, rules followed, rules broken. The faint brush of skin against skin gets his full attention for a few seconds. Not enough, never enough.
"We're gonna get along great, tiger."
And before Ransom can bitch about the pet name, Kavinsky surges up to collide into a kiss. He's sharp, all teeth and tongue. He wants to know what control looks like to this guy, wants to know what Ransom will do to assert it and where the edges are.
"So fuck me real straightforward," he says with a wicked grin against Ransom's mouth. "Therapist always said I needed some boundaries or some shit."
Kavinsky leans in for another kiss and one hand slides along Ransom's neck and up into his hair.
Tiger. Yeah, that's not going to work for him. It's a comment, however, that's stored and placed aside to be drawn out again when the moment calls for it. Much, much later.
He was perceptive, this procurer of expensive automobiles and possessor of high, sharp cheekbones. Ransom, too, wanted to know where the edges were. His own. Kavinsky's. They'd both lay down their own lines and push one another back and forth against them. He assumed, which he was doing a lot of but that's how he is, it's that similarity which allowed them to be compatible enough to have the arrangement that they did.
Ransom's hands fall easily to Kavinsky's hips, holding him up and against his chest and stomach as they kiss. Kavinsky shifts away, smirk pressed against Ransom's lips, and Ransom doesn't immediately respond as he guides them into another kiss. It's easy and he keeps it that way, a slow glide of lips and eventually his tongue, the tip barely brushing Kavinsky's lower lip before he opens his mouth and nips whatever is left of that smirk.
He leans back, slides his hand up just below Kavinsky's jaw, at his throat. It's not about causing pain or being a threat, but that silly little control they just spoke about.
"Your therapist wasn't wrong."
With the slightest pressure he begins to lay the guy back against the bed, leaving it up to Kavinsky to decide how difficult the fall backwards becomes.
Ransom's a good kisser and it bodes well for the rest of the night. Whatever happens next, his new client knows how to use his damn mouth. Kavinsky appreciates some versatility. Ransom will find that smirk is hard to get rid of: it starts blossoming again as soon as they're far enough apart.
"Might've had a point. I was dealing drugs to his kid."
Kavinsky tips his head back as Ransom's hand slides over his throat. It's not even the first time this week someone's held him there. He eases back beneath the pressure, offering just enough resistance that Ransom has to do more than just guide him down. It's not a fight, but it's definitely something.
He shifts beneath Ransom's broader body, adjusting his position when his back finally hits the bed.
Dark eyes stay on Ransom's face. Thank fuck he's good looking, otherwise the entitled fuckboy thing might be unbearable.
That's a conflict of interest, Kavisnky's therapist, but he's sure Kavinsky and his therapist had both been aware of that fact. The drug dealing doesn't faze him, though. Fortunately he's never needed to dip his hand into that particular pot but there's probably been a therapist or two that's mentioned Ransom's own issues with boundaries. A different take on them than Kavinsky. Still a problem.
"They always have a point." Right or wrong? Didn't matter. "I suppose."
Ransom raises a brow, tightening his grip on Kavisnky's throat. He does guide him down but he sees that pushback and knows now that he's going to have to be a little more direct, a little more forward.
"Of my dick game? Sure."
He grins, mouth quirking at Kavinsky's words. Ransom was probably too old for any of that shit but he found is amusing nonetheless. A beat and he releases his hold, leaning down to nip at the light marks he's left on Kavinsky's throat. "Take your boxers off and flip over." How sweet of him.
Hindsight and all that, Ransom unstraddles Kavinsky's thighs and slides to the edge of the bed to take his own off. He snags a few condoms and the lube.
Ransom is about to fuck a guy about a decade younger with a propensity for being a little shit, slang's the least of his worries. Kavinsky takes a deeper breath once his throat is free and he grins as teeth leave little marks. He'll be disappointed if he walks out of this with something to remember Ransom by.
He slides the last shred of fabric off first and tosses them somewhere away from the bed. The fact that Ransom is getting lube is like a dozen roses at this point. He's been here for a year and can no longer count the number of spit fucks he's had or given on one hand.
Kavinsky gets his knees under him and looks over his shoulder. Condoms? What a waste. But he forgets about them as soon as he gets a good look at Ransom's dick. Worth it.
Ah, their age difference. Kavinsky was above his cutoff and that was all that mattered. Ransom isn't one to care really. He's slept with older and younger partners. Men and women. If it felt good and he was having a nice time, it was fine. Besides, his dear Uncle Walt was always saying that Ransom only went for what was fashionable and trendy and free love was in right now, wasn't it? Live and let live. YOLO. All that shit.
The lube was for them both, heh. Going in dry didn't feel great. The condoms, though, that was for his protection. They'd said at orientation that stds weren't an issue but he'll need some time to get over that one.
Ransom drops the lube next to him on the bed, nudging Kavinsky's ankles apart to spread his legs.
"What to do, what to do."
He's a selfish man but sex was give and get back most of the time. Ransom wanted Kavinsky to put in some effort he had to do the same but there was something said about dick game. Right. He rips the condom open with his teeth and rolls it on. He's already hard enough for that and that has everything to do with the view. Ransom slides his hand up the back of Kavinsky's thigh, over the curve of his ass.
Kavinsky huffs a laugh as Ransom deliberates behind him. He looks over his shoulder and spreads his legs with Ransom's coaxing. K is rarely particularly benevolent during sex - he's selfish, single-minded, and he does what he wants until he can't. Being bent over for Ransom is where he wants to be, but he's getting impatient.
He can hear the familiar tear of foil and catches sight of the condom before Ransom puts it on. What a boy scout. With a quiet huff he bows his head, eyes nearly closed as Ransom's hand runs over his skin.
"Slow? Damn, baby. This is glacial."
There's a grin in his voice. If Ransom wants him to shut up, he knows how.
Ransom played life fast and loose like it was a game without consequences. That particular way of thinking spilled over into almost every thing he did, including sex. He slept with who he wanted, when he wanted, and looking at what he's doing now, it's well within the norm for him. Might be within the norm for Kavinsky. Turned out they had more and more in common as Ransom got to know him better.
"Or we'll go slow next time." Impatient? Kavinsky was that, no doubt in his mind. Ransom was too so he wouldn't hold it against him. "Baby, hm? You call everyone baby or is that just for me?"
He fists his dick, stroking from root to tip in long, firm pulls. He knows how to speed things up for himself and why not? It's what Kavinsky's asking for and he can oblige. His other hand finds the lube, snaps it open, and squeezes it out. A stroke or three later and he's shifting up and pushing his hips against Kavinsky's ass. Bending a knee, foot to the mattress, he leverages himself and presses the head of his dick against Kavinsky's hole.
"Yeah, next time we'll go slow. Make you beg me to fuck you."
Kavinsky isn't patient for much. He doesn't wait for things to come to him. So when Ransom finally fucking pushes against him, Kavinsky rocks his hips back. He'll fucking assist.
He likes a good, slow fuck, too. But not tonight. Tonight is a down payment for a Porsche, a very specific Porsche. And down payments had to prove the job is worth his time.
"You can fuck me slow and sweet when you get your car, man. In the back seat or on the hood, your call." He grins at the thought. "But I don't beg on the first fuck." Not when its business.
When Ransom finally pushes deeper, K moans and drops his head. Worth waiting for? Probably.
Kavinsky was right. This was payment. An exchange of goods and services. Technically, Ransom could still push and slow things down, keep things on his terms, but he wanted that damn car and he was willing to do what he had to do in order to get it.
Not that this was much of a chore.
"Sure, sure." K was starting to talk too much and that wasn't going to work. Something vague about pride could be said now. "Let's keep it strictly to moans or my name from here on out."
Ransom rocks back and then forward, tugging Kavinsky's hips back as he eases his way in. It's not slow, but not fast either, a steady push until he's in. With a heavy moan, he drops his knee back down, and presses his palm to the small of Kavinsky's back, angling his ass up and head down.
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>> action
He's already thrown his jacket and hoodie over one of the couches and he has a drink in hand when Ransom finally arrives. He cracks a grin.
"Hey, stud. Come check out these pictures and tell me if I'm on track."
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Hands on his hips, he raises a brow at stud.
"Right. Two things." He slides his glasses off, folds and tucks them in his coat pocket. "It's Ransom."
His scarf and coat come next, dropped over the back of a chair before he moves across the room to stand in front of Kavinsky. Ransom leans in to snag the picture of the car closest to what he wants.
"And, this one."
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He takes the picture back and studies it for a moment, then nods. He tosses the rest into a trash can and leaves the chosen one on the table. Then he turns his full attention to the man in front of him.
"Ransom," he echoes. "You're getting a real good bed out of this and a Porsche. You really wanna get picky about what I call you?"
He lifts an eyebrow and picks up his glass.
"You want a drink? Any other special requests about the car? Drug of choice?"
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"Yes and why shouldn't I? You agreed to the arrangement. We never said I had to take any shit you felt like dishing out."
He won't be walked all over. ...unless Kavinsky is able to really take him in hand but he won't hold his breath. That's never happened before. Isn't likely to happen here.
"No to all three."
Ransom isn't here to get drunk or high and he'll customize the car on his own terms, in his own time. He reaches out and rests his finger under Kavinsky's chin, tipping his head up. He was attractive. Young. Reminded him of someone or a type of someone that he knows.
"You ready?"
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"Right to business?" Then that grin cracks his face again and he pulls back. Kavinsky peels his shirt off as he walks backward into the bedroom of the suite. The bed is big, likely luxurious, and still made. There's lube on the nightstand. There's even condoms if Ransom feels like safety is an issue.
Kavinsky tosses his shirt.
"I like a man that doesn't stand on pretense. Even if you're not into party favors."
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"Never said I wasn't." Assumptions, Kavinsky, don't make them. "Only not now."
What did his uncle say? Yes, that's right. Ransom was 'into' all the fashionable drugs. What was popular that day when the mood struck. But Ransom had a healthy amount of common sense at his disposal. If you want to fuck a stranger you don't do it high. That's how you get stabbed or robbed or worse.
"If we fuck and it has nothing to do with payment, we can revisit the idea."
Ransom crosses his arms and pulls his sweater over his head, laying it aside. He takes more care with this piece of clothing ( it's the only sweater he has and it's his favorite ) before following Kavinsky into the bedroom. Nice bed. Clean, expensive sheets. He flicks the button of his pants open so he can push them over and down his hips as he kicks his shoes to the side.
"So how's this going to go?"
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"I said I wanted to see how good your dick game is and I meant it." He grins and shifts his hips. Kavinsky's gaze drifts over Ransom as he starts undressing, taking in what's on offer. "So you're gonna fuck me. Nothing's off the table until it is."
Kavinsky shoves his jeans down and leaves them on the floor, leaving him in just his boxer briefs as he eases back onto the bed.
"What're you into?"
Might as well ask.
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"Honestly, I prefer to keep the actual sex straightforward. You know, anal, blowjob, handjob. Straightforward." No dicks in weird things. He's not experimenting like that right now and he's okay with that. "But everything else is on the table until it isn't."
He crosses the room and drops a knee to the bed.
"Control, I like being in it." Ransom presses a hand to the center of Kavinsky's chest and pushes him back. "Rules, I like them being followed." He shifts forward onto the bed and swings a knee over Kavinsky's legs, straddling his hips. Their thighs brush but Ransom keeps their contact points low. "Rules, I like them broken." He's contrary, sue him.
"How about you lean up here and kiss me."
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"We're gonna get along great, tiger."
And before Ransom can bitch about the pet name, Kavinsky surges up to collide into a kiss. He's sharp, all teeth and tongue. He wants to know what control looks like to this guy, wants to know what Ransom will do to assert it and where the edges are.
"So fuck me real straightforward," he says with a wicked grin against Ransom's mouth. "Therapist always said I needed some boundaries or some shit."
Kavinsky leans in for another kiss and one hand slides along Ransom's neck and up into his hair.
no subject
He was perceptive, this procurer of expensive automobiles and possessor of high, sharp cheekbones. Ransom, too, wanted to know where the edges were. His own. Kavinsky's. They'd both lay down their own lines and push one another back and forth against them. He assumed, which he was doing a lot of but that's how he is, it's that similarity which allowed them to be compatible enough to have the arrangement that they did.
Ransom's hands fall easily to Kavinsky's hips, holding him up and against his chest and stomach as they kiss. Kavinsky shifts away, smirk pressed against Ransom's lips, and Ransom doesn't immediately respond as he guides them into another kiss. It's easy and he keeps it that way, a slow glide of lips and eventually his tongue, the tip barely brushing Kavinsky's lower lip before he opens his mouth and nips whatever is left of that smirk.
He leans back, slides his hand up just below Kavinsky's jaw, at his throat. It's not about causing pain or being a threat, but that silly little control they just spoke about.
"Your therapist wasn't wrong."
With the slightest pressure he begins to lay the guy back against the bed, leaving it up to Kavinsky to decide how difficult the fall backwards becomes.
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"Might've had a point. I was dealing drugs to his kid."
Kavinsky tips his head back as Ransom's hand slides over his throat. It's not even the first time this week someone's held him there. He eases back beneath the pressure, offering just enough resistance that Ransom has to do more than just guide him down. It's not a fight, but it's definitely something.
He shifts beneath Ransom's broader body, adjusting his position when his back finally hits the bed.
Dark eyes stay on Ransom's face. Thank fuck he's good looking, otherwise the entitled fuckboy thing might be unbearable.
"You gonna give me some?"
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"They always have a point." Right or wrong? Didn't matter. "I suppose."
Ransom raises a brow, tightening his grip on Kavisnky's throat. He does guide him down but he sees that pushback and knows now that he's going to have to be a little more direct, a little more forward.
"Of my dick game? Sure."
He grins, mouth quirking at Kavinsky's words. Ransom was probably too old for any of that shit but he found is amusing nonetheless. A beat and he releases his hold, leaning down to nip at the light marks he's left on Kavinsky's throat. "Take your boxers off and flip over." How sweet of him.
Hindsight and all that, Ransom unstraddles Kavinsky's thighs and slides to the edge of the bed to take his own off. He snags a few condoms and the lube.
no subject
He slides the last shred of fabric off first and tosses them somewhere away from the bed. The fact that Ransom is getting lube is like a dozen roses at this point. He's been here for a year and can no longer count the number of spit fucks he's had or given on one hand.
Kavinsky gets his knees under him and looks over his shoulder. Condoms? What a waste. But he forgets about them as soon as he gets a good look at Ransom's dick. Worth it.
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The lube was for them both, heh. Going in dry didn't feel great. The condoms, though, that was for his protection. They'd said at orientation that stds weren't an issue but he'll need some time to get over that one.
Ransom drops the lube next to him on the bed, nudging Kavinsky's ankles apart to spread his legs.
"What to do, what to do."
He's a selfish man but sex was give and get back most of the time. Ransom wanted Kavinsky to put in some effort he had to do the same but there was something said about dick game. Right. He rips the condom open with his teeth and rolls it on. He's already hard enough for that and that has everything to do with the view. Ransom slides his hand up the back of Kavinsky's thigh, over the curve of his ass.
"We'll go slow this time."
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He can hear the familiar tear of foil and catches sight of the condom before Ransom puts it on. What a boy scout. With a quiet huff he bows his head, eyes nearly closed as Ransom's hand runs over his skin.
"Slow? Damn, baby. This is glacial."
There's a grin in his voice. If Ransom wants him to shut up, he knows how.
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"Or we'll go slow next time." Impatient? Kavinsky was that, no doubt in his mind. Ransom was too so he wouldn't hold it against him. "Baby, hm? You call everyone baby or is that just for me?"
He fists his dick, stroking from root to tip in long, firm pulls. He knows how to speed things up for himself and why not? It's what Kavinsky's asking for and he can oblige. His other hand finds the lube, snaps it open, and squeezes it out. A stroke or three later and he's shifting up and pushing his hips against Kavinsky's ass. Bending a knee, foot to the mattress, he leverages himself and presses the head of his dick against Kavinsky's hole.
"Yeah, next time we'll go slow. Make you beg me to fuck you."
no subject
He likes a good, slow fuck, too. But not tonight. Tonight is a down payment for a Porsche, a very specific Porsche. And down payments had to prove the job is worth his time.
"You can fuck me slow and sweet when you get your car, man. In the back seat or on the hood, your call." He grins at the thought. "But I don't beg on the first fuck." Not when its business.
When Ransom finally pushes deeper, K moans and drops his head. Worth waiting for? Probably.
he'll fucking assist, best line ever tbh
Not that this was much of a chore.
"Sure, sure." K was starting to talk too much and that wasn't going to work. Something vague about pride could be said now. "Let's keep it strictly to moans or my name from here on out."
Ransom rocks back and then forward, tugging Kavinsky's hips back as he eases his way in. It's not slow, but not fast either, a steady push until he's in. With a heavy moan, he drops his knee back down, and presses his palm to the small of Kavinsky's back, angling his ass up and head down.