When they get up to the room, Kavinsky pushes his fingers through his hair, still feeling restless and trapped. He laughs at the deal presented to him.
“Oh, is this a business transaction now?”
He could argue that whatever he gives Derek is going to cost him more that whatever Derek gives him. But it might work better than a knife or gun or claw because all that would get Derek is a sharp do it. At least this way there a possibility of exchange. All Kavinsky wants is to stop thinking. Stop caring.
Derek wants Kavinsky to think and care. He wants Kavinsky to prove to him, on whatever level, that he's more than the vile, abusive piece of shit Derek sees him as. He wants Kavinsky to be more than just rotten to the core, even though he has no real reason to believe otherwise. Derek doesn't want to fucking kill a teenager.
"Tell me about your friend."
It's an easy start, he thinks. A low all. Derek stands, hands in his pockets, staring at Kavinsky. He's not angry. He's serious, but - relaxed. Tired.
"Doesn't have to be how he died. Just tell me who he was."
Kavinsky starts looking through the minibar and lines up whatever bottles he finds in there along the top of it.
Maybe he should be put down. Gansey thought it. Adam probably thought it. He wants to think that Ronan didn't, but maybe he did, too. Derek certainly seems to.
He regards the bottles like he's trying to decide which to down first.
"My best friend. First person I really talked to after Mom hauled us out to the middle of nowhere fucking Virginia to put me in a prep school."
It had been one of the few lucid decisions she ever made, and she made it after what happened with Kavinsky's father. Maybe the distance had been good, maybe it was fate or some shit that he was brought to a place in the world with another dreamer. He doesn't know. But it's where he found Prokopenko.
Derek doesn't want Kavinsky to drink through this, but he's not going to stop him if he tries. He doesn't hide the disappointment in the way he looks at him from the middle of the room, arms across his chest as he paces, but he keeps his comments to himself. Getting Kavinsky to stay sober is an uphill battle at the best of times.
"Kind of hard imagining you as a follower."
A stalker, maybe, sure, but - doesn't sound like that's what this was.
"Yeah, well. I was." He glances over his shoulder and rolls his eyes when he sees the disappointment on Derek's face. "You want me to do this sober? Fucking sadist."
It's cruel. Most of what he's taken that night is starting to wear off and he hasn't gotten home yet to top off. He doesn't want to keep remembering this. Kavinsky leaves the alcohol where it is - visible, within reach - but doesn't crack open any of the bottles yet. With an annoyed flourish, he tosses his cigarette case onto a table.
"This is probably the only time we're going to talk like this," Derek says, not sure if Kavinsky's making him feel defensive or not. "Doesn't seem like it'll be worth it if you can't keep your thoughts in line."
Derek's not trying to be insulting, or whatever, that's genuinely how he feels - but he's Derek, so maybe it comes off sharper and more insidiously mean than he intended it to. He runs his hand over the side of his neck, sighing softly, and when he pushes a little more, he tries to phrase it in a way that gives Kavinsky an out, if he wants to take it.
"You gonna tell me how he died?"
This isn't supposed to be sadistic, it's just supposed to be - something. Probably hard to defend a yourself asking questions like these when they're asked on the backdrop of i don't want to kill you but i will if you don't give me a reason not to, but whatever.
Kavinsky moves to the window and leans on the frame, staring at the glass like it might be a way out. His heart is beating fast, like it did that night, and the memories flood him in a way they haven't in years. Not outside of dreams.
"Not sure," he admits as he looks down. "Don't know if he OD'd or if something that happened during the fight did it."
He has no idea if he killed Prokopenko or if it was an accident of proportions. Maybe it was both. Almost completely sober, he remembers vividly how Proko looked when he stopped breathing.
Kavinsky's best friend died while he was high, or - because he was in a fight, or something - and Kavinsky still sells drugs? Tate came to Derek with a bloody nose, once, said that Kavinsky gave it to him - it's so, so hard to understand why Kavinsky would keep doing the things that killed someone he clearly cared about.
Derek needs a second - he's pacing a little faster, struggling not to make any shitty accusations, struggling not to trap Kavinsky in a corner without meaning to. He wants to keep a level head, learn what he needs to learn, fucking understand this kid, and this is all just - this is so much.
He stops pacing by the foot of the bed, listens to the drum of Kavinsky's heartbeat from half a room away.Maybe he's misinterpreting - Kavinsky said he saw this guy die, but that doesn't mean he was involved. Maybe he didn't give him the drugs, either, not like that would make Kavinsky's dealing any better. Derek rubs at his temple, just trying to fucking think.
Kavinsky seems impervious to Derek's pacing, still where Derek can't stop moving.
"I kissed him," he says quietly, voice tight as he tries to hold everything in. "I kissed him and he--freaked out. We got into a fight. I thought it was okay, I thought--"
He's never talked about this with anyone. He has never spoken a word of it since he hauled his friend's body out of his house. Part of him is pissed that Derek is the one to hear it now. This asshole that wants him dead, who will never believe his side of any story because he knows better. Who still apparently thinks Tate is completely inculpable. Whatever. If Derek kills him in this fucking hotel room to make himself feel better, fine.
He remembers the half-dazed panic, the struggle between two boys both too high to do anything reasonable. Kavinsky doesn't want to remember any of it. He moves away from the window to grab his cigarette case, though when he opens it he can't decide what exactly he wants. So he just kind of stands there, looking at it, thinking of fucking Prokopenko, who he misses like a limb. Like air.
Derek doesn't have any reason to believe Kavinsky, really, but - well, he was searching for something real, something humanizing, and if this is true, it explains a lot about him. Derek stops pacing and stands very, very still, watching Kavinsky coil up tight from the stress of telling him all this.
Kavinsky made a friend, made a move, got rejected and got the guy killed. It's not hard to connect the dots and see how something like that could transition to the Kavinsky Derek knows now - someone who makes himself useful through party favors and dealing, violent and unhinged and completely lacking control. He thinks of Paige, distantly. Of the trajectory that death sent him on.
"Stop. Breathe."
This isn't ennough to make Derek forgive Kavinsky for the things he's done while he's here, but it helps make him a little more.. something. Real. Derek exhales, dropping to the edge of the bed. A part of him wants to say I'm sorry, or something, but even if he's been willing to listen, willing to try and empathize, verbalizing the start of those feelings is an entirely different matter. This is still Kavinsky. They're not exactly friends.
"That's - christ."
Hard to know what to say, when your conscience is telling you to try to be kind while the rest of you is too wary and burned to try.
Kavinsky leans against the table and tosses his cigarette case down again. He doesn't want anything. He wants everything. And he doesn't know what to do with the way Derek is looking at him right now.
"Yeah, well, while we're rehashing pleasant memories, my dad used to beat the shit out of me and my mom and she spent most of her time kind of off in la la land."
He gestures around his head. Her self-medicating was somewhat legendary. Enough so that Kavinsky didn't know what to do with her once they were away from his father, once she started taking an active interest in him. Too late.
"Anything else you wanna know?"
Kavinsky has no reason to believe that love and affection are things that he can have. And he has no reason to believe that, even if he asked for them, he'd get them. So he doesn't ask for anything. He takes it or he buys it or he finds other ways to make people want him around.
What else could he possibly ask after all that? Derek sets his jaw and says nothing, for a moment, focused on processing Kavinsky's confession and struggling to figure out if he believes him or not, struggling to figure out if he's being manipulated into feeling pity. Even if he did believe him, a bad childhood is no excuse for half the shit he's done - but Derek didn't go into this looking for an excuse. Again, he was just looking for some sign of humanity in Kavinsky. Anything. This is certainly that.
So - he shakes his head. He doesn't look sympathetic, he doesn't look like he bought this, if it's all an act - he just looks the way he usually does. Despondent and bitter and angry. He's so sick of being angry all the time.
"No," Derek mumbles. "Maybe in a little while."
After he's had some time to think. Derek grips the edge of the bed, giving Kavinsky a long, silent stare. He needs to give Kavinsky a break. There's no point in trying to - figure him out, or whatever it is he's doing, if he's just going to get upset. He can't drill into a ticking timebomb.
"Dea's a deal."
He said he'd do something if Kavinsky answered his questions, so - he'll honor that, even if part of that decision is made because he expects Kavinsky's going to be too pissed off to do anything other than order him to leave.
Of all the lies he's told, he's never been obtuse about the nature of his childhood. Even Lynch knew about his father. Well, he knows what Kavinsky did to his father.
"I wonder about my mom, y'know," he says as he pushes away from the furniture he'd been leaning on. He approaches Derek and the bed, trying to decide if he actually wants to fuck anymore. Of course he does - he wants to get as far out of his head as possible. He's trying to figure out if Derek wants to. Despite popular opinion, K likes most of his partners to be into it.
"Why she was so fucked up all the time. Was it him? Was it me?" He shrugs and stops when he's close enough to stand between Derek's thighs.
Of course Derek wants to do this. He won't say it - how the fuck could he, when he won't even admit this to himself? - but nobody makes Derek feel half as complicated as Kavinsky does. He makes him angry, angrier than anyone has in a long, long time, fills him with disgust, floods him with pity and shame and an unparalleled lust for violence and revenge and retribution. He wants Kavinsky to suffer, and after everything he's been through, wanting someone to suffer doesn't come easy to him.
But fuck, the amount of willpower he's had to spend just to stop himsef from stroking his cock in the dead of night while picturing Kavinsky's face. He's rationalized it in his head - he's attracted to the physical outlet he's had with Kavinsky the few times they've fucked, the intense aphrodisiacs, the primal brutality, rather than Kavinsky himself - but that doesn't change the fact that his mouth goes dry when Kavinsky steps closer.
Still, any physical attraction here doesn't change who Kavinsky is, and hearing the casual, barely concealed bitterness in him as he asks was it me doesn't exactly get Derek hard. Just gives him more of that complicated pity, battling it out with his deep distrust for the guy. He darts his tongue between his lips and stares up at Kavinsky, put out by the height disadvantage and staying anchored to the conversation. He feels like Kavinsky's trying to psyche him out, asking about his mom.
"She's dead."
That's all he gets. He's holding eye contact with Kavinsky, concerned more about losing whatever position of power he had in this conversation than he is about what might come next.
Derek pisses him off and turns him on in equal measure, but at least that isn't that weird for Kavinsky. He feels the same about Adam some days. Feels the same about Lynch. Nick. The difference is that Derek is the only one that's actively wanted him dead. The chemistry is insane, though, and Kavinsky's sense of self-preservation is low.
Kind of perfect, really.
His dreams that have Derek in him always feel like the world is catching fire in all the best ways. They're the ones he doesn't want to wake up from.
Derek says that his mother is dead and Kavinsky nods a bit. There's something sympathetic there, but he can't bring himself to utter an apology. He hates that shit. Sorry. What does it change? What does it heal? His fingers brush along Derek's jaw and back into his hair as the man looks up at him.
"Year and a half in July since I saw my mom. Longer since I saw my dad."
He tells himself he doesn't care. He knows what happens to him in the world he left behind, so why should he?
Kavinsky's sympathy makes his skin crawl, but for once, it's not actually his fault. A nod is actually the best thing he could do - the Hale family deaths were somewhat notorious back in Derek's home town, and until he moved away with his sister, the half-hearted sympathy and the witless apologies from neighbours who he never spoke to drove him fucking insane. People showed sympathy for him because it made them feel better to cross that obligation off once they saw him. He always hated that.
Derek seems like he's not receptive to Kavinsky's touch, but he waits until Kavinsky's done running his nails through his hair before he bothers to reach up and grab his wrist. It would be easy to just - yank his arm away, but he doesn't. He keeps it there, still holding eye contact, any anger or disinterest in his expression betrayed by the way he holds Kavinsky's arm just firm enough to avoid hurting him.
"How did..."
How did you leave things with your parents. He - doesn't ask that, even though he's tempted to, because he stalls out, distracted by another thought.
Kavinsky's breath catches when Derek grabs his wrist. His arm tenses for a second as he expects to be yanked or shoved away, but nothing happens. Derek just holds on and Kavinsky slowly relaxes under his touch. The pulse beneath Derek's fingers is steady and it picks up at his touch.
"No one," he answers. "No one else has been into this kinda foreplay."
He plays it off with a joke and a small smirk, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. He doesn't talk about things like this with anyone because no one really wants to hear it. Why would they? They get what they want from him and that's all that really matters. Kavinsky is perfectly happy with that arrangement. Derek's the only person that's really asked about his past and seemed to listen when he talked. He's pretty sure he's told Tate some things, but not much. That was commiserating if it was anything.
It's not shocking to hear that, though again, he doubts if Kavinsky's telling the truth. It's not hard to play up a role - to act isolated when you're not. There has to be someone in Kavinsky's life he's opened up to like this. It's far too fucking sad if there's not.
Derek wets his lips, and there's something softer in him, now. He curls his fingers aroudn Kavinsky's wrist like he's doubling down on keeping him where he is, but it's tender and kind in a way that he doesn't think Kavinsky deserves. He's still learning about this kid. Still learning who he is, when he isn't helping kids OD and setting his life on fire.
What comes next is... thoughtful. Experimental. For once, Derek says what he says next without the intention to hurt or to get into Kavinsky's head. He's curious, and he's cautious, like he's not sure what's going to happen once these two short syllables leave his mouth, but he wants to figure out if this is something good, or if this is something bad. Joseph was bad, but -
It's that sad. He's tried a handful of times, with varying degrees of success. But he never gets very far.
And when Derek calls him Joey like that - soft, a little hesitant, but kind of tender - Kavinsky doesn't know what to do. He looks disarmed, off guard, and he stares at Derek like he's trying to figure out why. Every time he's said it before, Derek's done it to fuck with him and he knows it. Is he just fucking with him again in a more twisted way? He stands there, frozen in Derek's gentle grip.
Kavinsky lowers his gaze for a second, trying to get a fucking grip on himself. It's just a name, but--
He can count on one hand the number of people that call him that without doing it to be nasty. And he's suspicious every single time.
Again - Kavinsky makes Derek feel complicated. It's hard to apologize to someone you have an outstanding death threat on. It's hard to hold someone's wrist while staring at them, fully aware they were responsible for the pain and suffering someone you love has gone through. But -
"I'm not..."
But Derek's mom raised him to be a good person, and that's not something Kavinsky had. Derek's older, smarter, more evolved. He sees the confusion in Kavinsky's eyes and senses, again, that Joey is an important name for him, even if he still can't guess why - but he feels like an asshole for weaponizing it against him so many times.
"I don't like being the way I am with you. Hateful. If something were to happen - if I really were to put you down - it would be to stop you from hurting other people. It's - preventative. Not malicious. I don't want to be a malicious person."
Derek hesitates. He can't bring himself to apologize, but he's trying to explain, trying to set up some boundaries. He changes his grip on Kavinsky like he wants to tighten it, again, but then he just - lets go of his arm.
"I don't want to be cruel. I'm not going to call you that if it's cruel. I'm only going to call you that if it's - not."
Kavinsky huffs a sound that's almost a laugh when Derek decides to reiterate that he would kill him if he decided Kavinsky was being dangerous. But not maliciously. Yeah, that makes it so much better.
He meets Derek's gaze again, seeming to consider the assertion that he doesn't want to be cruel. That's new. He doesn't know what to do with that, either. Derek keeps throwing him curve balls and he's not even sure how to swing at them.
"Not a lot of people have ever called me that. It's--"
Intimate, he almost says. He doesn't try to finish the sentence. Instead, he lifts his other hand to hold Derek's face and leans down to kiss him. He doesn't want to think about any of this anymore, and this is the best way to get out of his head that doesn't involve drinking, popping, or snorting something.
Derek doesn't know how to fuck Kavinsky without anger. Fuck, Derek doesn't know how to fuck Kavinsky when he's sober. There's a split second where he has a chance to pull away from this kiss before it happens, to put his hand on Kavinsky's chest and push him away - but for whatever reason, he doesn't. Maybe it's just easy for him to surrender to this and clean up the aftermath when it's done. Like always.
He keeps his eyes open until the very last second. Kavinsky presses his lips to Derek's and Derek slowly, slowly kisses him back, putting one hand on his throat, nails to his skin in some vague, undetermined, half-hearted threat he doesn't mean. His eyelids flutter shut as he tentatively swipes his tongue over Kavinsky's bottom lip, wanting more of him, wanting, like him, to just stop thinking.
Derek's the one who deepens the kiss. His hand moves up to Kavinsky's hair and scratches lightly through his scalp, he adds more tongue, adds the tiniest trace of teeth. He kisses Kavinsky like he doesn't want to throw his body in a fucking river, and when he pulls away, he's not really sure what to think. Not really sure how to proceed, either. Slowly, he takes his hand back.
"Kavinsky."
There's a pause. If they do this - if they do this regularly -
The hand on his throat is actually welcome, like it's a reminder even if there's no real threat behind it. They're still them. Even if this kiss is the most gentle thing they've ever done. His pulse picks up in a rush as his tongue brushes Derek's. He has to brace himself against Derek's shoulder because he's leaning into the kiss, chasing every taste and bite.
When they part, he's breathing quicker and seems a little dazed. His name brings him out of it a little and--
Right. That's always the caveat, isn't it?
A sardonic smile flickers across his face and he nods.
"Yeah, I get it." No one can know that Derek is fucking some throw-away. Just like Adam didn't want anyone to know. "Don't worry about it, tiger. Secret's safe with me."
He knows how this works. If he talks, it goes away. This is something he wants, maybe something he needs, and he doesn't fuck up things like that. Usually.
If only that were the case. If Kavinsky were just some throwaway - if he was just some quick fuck he could blame on aphrodisiacs, physical attraction and whatever the fuck else Duplicity put them through - that would be one thing. It's more than that. He's seeing Kavinsky as human, as someone who, on some level, could have been worth caring for, if it hadn't been for his history with Tate - and leaning into that instead of breaking this off and running is just...
It's a betrayal. He shouldn't be doing this. He has a dozen reasons not to. A dozen more reasons not to care about that bitterly sarcastic smile on Kavinsky's face. He doesn't know why he does. Still - all he says is a sharp, concrete -
"Good."
He looks at Kavinsky, like he's giving him room to argue or back down, but then he's moving. He drags himself further onto the bed, pushing back until he's got his back against the headboard, legs spread, and he holds eye contact with Kavinsky as he starts to undress. He's still messy, still smells like sex from fucking around with Reggie and Noah at tonight's party, but he's sharp and alert.
Kavinsky peels his shirt off as Derek gets higher on the bed. The rest of his clothes follow, down to his boxer briefs. He eases onto the bed to start helping Derek out of his clothes, not caring that both of them smell like other people.
All he cares is that by the end of this, they'll smell like each other.
He gets between Derek's spread legs and pushes his fingers into his hair to pull him into another kiss. Kavinsky licks into his mouth, chasing that sweetness from earlier now that it's been offered. He knows that what they do will be confined to closed doors or hidden corners, and he can live with that. Because what he gets out of this--what he gets is worth it.
And it's all he's ever going to get. So he's going to enjoy it and take every inch he's given.
His hands slide down Derek's neck until his blunt nails can rake over his chest.
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no subject
When they get up to the room, Kavinsky pushes his fingers through his hair, still feeling restless and trapped. He laughs at the deal presented to him.
“Oh, is this a business transaction now?”
He could argue that whatever he gives Derek is going to cost him more that whatever Derek gives him. But it might work better than a knife or gun or claw because all that would get Derek is a sharp do it. At least this way there a possibility of exchange. All Kavinsky wants is to stop thinking. Stop caring.
“Fuck you. Fine, what do you want?”
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"Tell me about your friend."
It's an easy start, he thinks. A low all. Derek stands, hands in his pockets, staring at Kavinsky. He's not angry. He's serious, but - relaxed. Tired.
"Doesn't have to be how he died. Just tell me who he was."
no subject
Maybe he should be put down. Gansey thought it. Adam probably thought it. He wants to think that Ronan didn't, but maybe he did, too. Derek certainly seems to.
He regards the bottles like he's trying to decide which to down first.
"My best friend. First person I really talked to after Mom hauled us out to the middle of nowhere fucking Virginia to put me in a prep school."
It had been one of the few lucid decisions she ever made, and she made it after what happened with Kavinsky's father. Maybe the distance had been good, maybe it was fate or some shit that he was brought to a place in the world with another dreamer. He doesn't know. But it's where he found Prokopenko.
"I followed him everywhere."
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"Kind of hard imagining you as a follower."
A stalker, maybe, sure, but - doesn't sound like that's what this was.
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It's cruel. Most of what he's taken that night is starting to wear off and he hasn't gotten home yet to top off. He doesn't want to keep remembering this. Kavinsky leaves the alcohol where it is - visible, within reach - but doesn't crack open any of the bottles yet. With an annoyed flourish, he tosses his cigarette case onto a table.
"Right up until he died."
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Derek's not trying to be insulting, or whatever, that's genuinely how he feels - but he's Derek, so maybe it comes off sharper and more insidiously mean than he intended it to. He runs his hand over the side of his neck, sighing softly, and when he pushes a little more, he tries to phrase it in a way that gives Kavinsky an out, if he wants to take it.
"You gonna tell me how he died?"
This isn't supposed to be sadistic, it's just supposed to be - something. Probably hard to defend a yourself asking questions like these when they're asked on the backdrop of i don't want to kill you but i will if you don't give me a reason not to, but whatever.
no subject
"Not sure," he admits as he looks down. "Don't know if he OD'd or if something that happened during the fight did it."
He has no idea if he killed Prokopenko or if it was an accident of proportions. Maybe it was both. Almost completely sober, he remembers vividly how Proko looked when he stopped breathing.
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"You..."
Kavinsky's best friend died while he was high, or - because he was in a fight, or something - and Kavinsky still sells drugs? Tate came to Derek with a bloody nose, once, said that Kavinsky gave it to him - it's so, so hard to understand why Kavinsky would keep doing the things that killed someone he clearly cared about.
Derek needs a second - he's pacing a little faster, struggling not to make any shitty accusations, struggling not to trap Kavinsky in a corner without meaning to. He wants to keep a level head, learn what he needs to learn, fucking understand this kid, and this is all just - this is so much.
He stops pacing by the foot of the bed, listens to the drum of Kavinsky's heartbeat from half a room away.Maybe he's misinterpreting - Kavinsky said he saw this guy die, but that doesn't mean he was involved. Maybe he didn't give him the drugs, either, not like that would make Kavinsky's dealing any better. Derek rubs at his temple, just trying to fucking think.
"Who was he fighting? You?"
no subject
"I kissed him," he says quietly, voice tight as he tries to hold everything in. "I kissed him and he--freaked out. We got into a fight. I thought it was okay, I thought--"
He's never talked about this with anyone. He has never spoken a word of it since he hauled his friend's body out of his house. Part of him is pissed that Derek is the one to hear it now. This asshole that wants him dead, who will never believe his side of any story because he knows better. Who still apparently thinks Tate is completely inculpable. Whatever. If Derek kills him in this fucking hotel room to make himself feel better, fine.
He remembers the half-dazed panic, the struggle between two boys both too high to do anything reasonable. Kavinsky doesn't want to remember any of it. He moves away from the window to grab his cigarette case, though when he opens it he can't decide what exactly he wants. So he just kind of stands there, looking at it, thinking of fucking Prokopenko, who he misses like a limb. Like air.
no subject
Kavinsky made a friend, made a move, got rejected and got the guy killed. It's not hard to connect the dots and see how something like that could transition to the Kavinsky Derek knows now - someone who makes himself useful through party favors and dealing, violent and unhinged and completely lacking control. He thinks of Paige, distantly. Of the trajectory that death sent him on.
"Stop. Breathe."
This isn't ennough to make Derek forgive Kavinsky for the things he's done while he's here, but it helps make him a little more.. something. Real. Derek exhales, dropping to the edge of the bed. A part of him wants to say I'm sorry, or something, but even if he's been willing to listen, willing to try and empathize, verbalizing the start of those feelings is an entirely different matter. This is still Kavinsky. They're not exactly friends.
"That's - christ."
Hard to know what to say, when your conscience is telling you to try to be kind while the rest of you is too wary and burned to try.
no subject
"Yeah, well, while we're rehashing pleasant memories, my dad used to beat the shit out of me and my mom and she spent most of her time kind of off in la la land."
He gestures around his head. Her self-medicating was somewhat legendary. Enough so that Kavinsky didn't know what to do with her once they were away from his father, once she started taking an active interest in him. Too late.
"Anything else you wanna know?"
Kavinsky has no reason to believe that love and affection are things that he can have. And he has no reason to believe that, even if he asked for them, he'd get them. So he doesn't ask for anything. He takes it or he buys it or he finds other ways to make people want him around.
no subject
So - he shakes his head. He doesn't look sympathetic, he doesn't look like he bought this, if it's all an act - he just looks the way he usually does. Despondent and bitter and angry. He's so sick of being angry all the time.
"No," Derek mumbles. "Maybe in a little while."
After he's had some time to think. Derek grips the edge of the bed, giving Kavinsky a long, silent stare. He needs to give Kavinsky a break. There's no point in trying to - figure him out, or whatever it is he's doing, if he's just going to get upset. He can't drill into a ticking timebomb.
"Dea's a deal."
He said he'd do something if Kavinsky answered his questions, so - he'll honor that, even if part of that decision is made because he expects Kavinsky's going to be too pissed off to do anything other than order him to leave.
no subject
"I wonder about my mom, y'know," he says as he pushes away from the furniture he'd been leaning on. He approaches Derek and the bed, trying to decide if he actually wants to fuck anymore. Of course he does - he wants to get as far out of his head as possible. He's trying to figure out if Derek wants to. Despite popular opinion, K likes most of his partners to be into it.
"Why she was so fucked up all the time. Was it him? Was it me?" He shrugs and stops when he's close enough to stand between Derek's thighs.
"You close with yours?"
no subject
But fuck, the amount of willpower he's had to spend just to stop himsef from stroking his cock in the dead of night while picturing Kavinsky's face. He's rationalized it in his head - he's attracted to the physical outlet he's had with Kavinsky the few times they've fucked, the intense aphrodisiacs, the primal brutality, rather than Kavinsky himself - but that doesn't change the fact that his mouth goes dry when Kavinsky steps closer.
Still, any physical attraction here doesn't change who Kavinsky is, and hearing the casual, barely concealed bitterness in him as he asks was it me doesn't exactly get Derek hard. Just gives him more of that complicated pity, battling it out with his deep distrust for the guy. He darts his tongue between his lips and stares up at Kavinsky, put out by the height disadvantage and staying anchored to the conversation. He feels like Kavinsky's trying to psyche him out, asking about his mom.
"She's dead."
That's all he gets. He's holding eye contact with Kavinsky, concerned more about losing whatever position of power he had in this conversation than he is about what might come next.
"When was the last time you saw your family?"
no subject
Kind of perfect, really.
His dreams that have Derek in him always feel like the world is catching fire in all the best ways. They're the ones he doesn't want to wake up from.
Derek says that his mother is dead and Kavinsky nods a bit. There's something sympathetic there, but he can't bring himself to utter an apology. He hates that shit. Sorry. What does it change? What does it heal? His fingers brush along Derek's jaw and back into his hair as the man looks up at him.
"Year and a half in July since I saw my mom. Longer since I saw my dad."
He tells himself he doesn't care. He knows what happens to him in the world he left behind, so why should he?
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Derek seems like he's not receptive to Kavinsky's touch, but he waits until Kavinsky's done running his nails through his hair before he bothers to reach up and grab his wrist. It would be easy to just - yank his arm away, but he doesn't. He keeps it there, still holding eye contact, any anger or disinterest in his expression betrayed by the way he holds Kavinsky's arm just firm enough to avoid hurting him.
"How did..."
How did you leave things with your parents. He - doesn't ask that, even though he's tempted to, because he stalls out, distracted by another thought.
"Who else have you talked to about all this?"
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"No one," he answers. "No one else has been into this kinda foreplay."
He plays it off with a joke and a small smirk, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. He doesn't talk about things like this with anyone because no one really wants to hear it. Why would they? They get what they want from him and that's all that really matters. Kavinsky is perfectly happy with that arrangement. Derek's the only person that's really asked about his past and seemed to listen when he talked. He's pretty sure he's told Tate some things, but not much. That was commiserating if it was anything.
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Derek wets his lips, and there's something softer in him, now. He curls his fingers aroudn Kavinsky's wrist like he's doubling down on keeping him where he is, but it's tender and kind in a way that he doesn't think Kavinsky deserves. He's still learning about this kid. Still learning who he is, when he isn't helping kids OD and setting his life on fire.
What comes next is... thoughtful. Experimental. For once, Derek says what he says next without the intention to hurt or to get into Kavinsky's head. He's curious, and he's cautious, like he's not sure what's going to happen once these two short syllables leave his mouth, but he wants to figure out if this is something good, or if this is something bad. Joseph was bad, but -
"Joey."
- he can never quite tell with Joey.
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And when Derek calls him Joey like that - soft, a little hesitant, but kind of tender - Kavinsky doesn't know what to do. He looks disarmed, off guard, and he stares at Derek like he's trying to figure out why. Every time he's said it before, Derek's done it to fuck with him and he knows it. Is he just fucking with him again in a more twisted way? He stands there, frozen in Derek's gentle grip.
Kavinsky lowers his gaze for a second, trying to get a fucking grip on himself. It's just a name, but--
He can count on one hand the number of people that call him that without doing it to be nasty. And he's suspicious every single time.
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"I'm not..."
But Derek's mom raised him to be a good person, and that's not something Kavinsky had. Derek's older, smarter, more evolved. He sees the confusion in Kavinsky's eyes and senses, again, that Joey is an important name for him, even if he still can't guess why - but he feels like an asshole for weaponizing it against him so many times.
"I don't like being the way I am with you. Hateful. If something were to happen - if I really were to put you down - it would be to stop you from hurting other people. It's - preventative. Not malicious. I don't want to be a malicious person."
Derek hesitates. He can't bring himself to apologize, but he's trying to explain, trying to set up some boundaries. He changes his grip on Kavinsky like he wants to tighten it, again, but then he just - lets go of his arm.
"I don't want to be cruel. I'm not going to call you that if it's cruel. I'm only going to call you that if it's - not."
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He meets Derek's gaze again, seeming to consider the assertion that he doesn't want to be cruel. That's new. He doesn't know what to do with that, either. Derek keeps throwing him curve balls and he's not even sure how to swing at them.
"Not a lot of people have ever called me that. It's--"
Intimate, he almost says. He doesn't try to finish the sentence. Instead, he lifts his other hand to hold Derek's face and leans down to kiss him. He doesn't want to think about any of this anymore, and this is the best way to get out of his head that doesn't involve drinking, popping, or snorting something.
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He keeps his eyes open until the very last second. Kavinsky presses his lips to Derek's and Derek slowly, slowly kisses him back, putting one hand on his throat, nails to his skin in some vague, undetermined, half-hearted threat he doesn't mean. His eyelids flutter shut as he tentatively swipes his tongue over Kavinsky's bottom lip, wanting more of him, wanting, like him, to just stop thinking.
Derek's the one who deepens the kiss. His hand moves up to Kavinsky's hair and scratches lightly through his scalp, he adds more tongue, adds the tiniest trace of teeth. He kisses Kavinsky like he doesn't want to throw his body in a fucking river, and when he pulls away, he's not really sure what to think. Not really sure how to proceed, either. Slowly, he takes his hand back.
"Kavinsky."
There's a pause. If they do this - if they do this regularly -
"Nobody can know."
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When they part, he's breathing quicker and seems a little dazed. His name brings him out of it a little and--
Right. That's always the caveat, isn't it?
A sardonic smile flickers across his face and he nods.
"Yeah, I get it." No one can know that Derek is fucking some throw-away. Just like Adam didn't want anyone to know. "Don't worry about it, tiger. Secret's safe with me."
He knows how this works. If he talks, it goes away. This is something he wants, maybe something he needs, and he doesn't fuck up things like that. Usually.
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It's a betrayal. He shouldn't be doing this. He has a dozen reasons not to. A dozen more reasons not to care about that bitterly sarcastic smile on Kavinsky's face. He doesn't know why he does. Still - all he says is a sharp, concrete -
"Good."
He looks at Kavinsky, like he's giving him room to argue or back down, but then he's moving. He drags himself further onto the bed, pushing back until he's got his back against the headboard, legs spread, and he holds eye contact with Kavinsky as he starts to undress. He's still messy, still smells like sex from fucking around with Reggie and Noah at tonight's party, but he's sharp and alert.
"C'mere."
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All he cares is that by the end of this, they'll smell like each other.
He gets between Derek's spread legs and pushes his fingers into his hair to pull him into another kiss. Kavinsky licks into his mouth, chasing that sweetness from earlier now that it's been offered. He knows that what they do will be confined to closed doors or hidden corners, and he can live with that. Because what he gets out of this--what he gets is worth it.
And it's all he's ever going to get. So he's going to enjoy it and take every inch he's given.
His hands slide down Derek's neck until his blunt nails can rake over his chest.
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