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.
Derek gets his shirt off overhead before they're on each other again, Kavinsky's kiss making it easier and easier to forget what he's doing. There's still this boiling, unsettled feeling in his stomach - reminders of things that Kavinsky has done, loud, inner protests to stop what he's doing - but Kavinsky bites at his lip and Derek's getting uncomfortably hard by the time he bites back, his dick already straining against the cotton of his boxers.
He hisses when Kavinsky scratches at his chest, but that's not enough to stop him from kissing him. He's not fully lost to this yet, each swift probing of his tongue lacking the primal, urgent need he's had when he's done this with Kavinsky in the past, but he's got his eyes closed, now, getting his pants off around his ankles and leaving them on the floor.
Derek doesn't take off his underwear so much as he just hooks his waistband beneath his balls, fishing out his cock with one hand, his other fist in the back of Kavinsky's hair and holding on tight. He's getting more and more aggressive, a year's worth of denial and self-preservation tactics learned throughout Duplicity allowing himself to just-- put aside his reservations. He drops both hands to Kavinsky's side and leans back, stripping his underwear the rest of the way, soon completely naked, hard as fuck and holding eye contact. It's surreal that he's doing this.
"You wanna put that pretty mouth of yours to work?"
'Cause, you know - he always has liked shutting Kavinsky up.
Kavinsky drops a hand between them as soon as he feels Derek's cock against his stomach. He wraps his hand around him just to fucking feel him as they kiss. His aggression escalates with Derek's, matching him in intensity as something lets loose. He shifts his weight as Derek gets rid of the last of his clothes, making sure his legs don't get tangled in the fabric.
When they finally part, Kavinsky wets his lips and he can't help the wicked grin that lights his face. He doesn't bother answering, not verbally. Instead, he sinks down and teases his tongue over the head. Of course he wants this. He strokes his hand down Derek's thick cock and sinks lower, moaning at the familiar, heavy feel of him on his tongue.
Kavinsky reaches down to squeezes his own cock, trying to take the edge off a little as takes Derek as deep as he can. He bobs his head, trying to control the depth until he's ready to let Derek slide into his throat. He lets himself get sloppy, slick but not urgent yet.
There's a small, petty part of him that wants to stay stoic throughout all of this. If he doesn't make a noise, doesn't act like he's enjoying this, he might rile Kavinsky up a little, fuck with his head enough to make him think he's doing a poor job - but that's a slippery slope, one that leads to holding the poor guy down and calling him Joey while he blows his load on his face. That's not who Derek wants to be. He wants to rise above, for once. Exhibit self control.
If this is the only time they're going to do this, then fuck, he might as well enjoy it - and if they'll do this more than once, well. It's the first time he's fucked Kavinsky without being overtly angry at him. Nobody's going to know if he lets himself enjoy this.
He breathes in deep, softly breathing out as he spreads his legs a little wider and closes his eyes. Kavinsky's going fucking at it - the tight, wet suction around the head of his cock is almost enough to make his toes curl, but it's the eager way he manages to suck Derek down that fucking deep that fucking quickly that really gets to him. His legs go tense and he reaches one hand out to run his fingers through Kavinsky's hair, every ripped muscle of Derek's body tensed and tight.
"Fuck."
He doesn't guide Kavinsky yet, but he does ease him a little further down on his cock when he can take it, holding his head as he very gently fucks up into his throat. He's not being as rough as he could be, but he's a big guy - maybe he'll hold on too tight, maybe he'll gag Kavinsky, greedy to feel even more of his throat. He's trying his best not to, but - he doesn't know his own strength.
The pressure on his head is perfect. His throat goes tight for a second as Derek fucks into him, but it's perfect. He braces a hand against Derek's hip but it's not enough weight to try to stop him or slow him down. He just wants to feel it when he moves, wants the play of muscle and warm skin beneath his hand.
Kavinsky lets his eyes close and relaxes his throat as much as he can. Still, he gags for a second when Derek pushes deep. He recovers quickly, bobs his head back just enough before he sinks down again, as far as Derek can go. He tries to build up a rhythm like that with the weight of Derek's hand tangled in his hair. Every rock of Derek's hips, he feels him slide deep, fucking filling him.
His cock is fucking aching already and he grinds lazily against the bed, looking for friction the next time Derek slides into his throat. The angle isn't perfect, but it works.
Derek's breathing is coming more ragged, now, stilted peaks and valleys as he tries to keep composure. He's not pushing Kavinsky down any further than he thinks he can take it, at first, but Kavinsky is fucking eager, going further and further down his cock like he was made for this all on his own, and it's hard not to see stars. When Kavinsky gags, Derek laughs a little, but - it's not unkind. He just - likes that. Likes that someone's working so hard for him that they choke.
"Easy. Breathe through your nose."
He's alternating between gripping Kavinsky's hair tight, guiding him more overtly through each bob of his head, to smoothing his fingers back through his hair, soothing and almost sweet. He loses himself in the feeling for a few minutes, neglecting Kavinsky's cock the whole time without really meaning to, but soon he wants Kavinsky to really take it.
He pushes Kavinsky down, further and further and further, easing him past his gag reflex and cooing quiet instructions to him, telling him to open his throat, to relax, as Derek has him deepthroat his cock. When Kavinsky's nose is buried at the base of his dick, Derek grunts hard through his teeth, barely panting out a coherent sentence -
The sound of Derek's voice, the way he breathes, is all the encouragement he really needs. It's everything.
Kavinsky's almost euphoric by the time his nose nudges against Derek and all he can feel and all he can smell is him. His cock throbs against the bed and he can't help the way he moans. His hands are tight on Derek's hip and thigh and the man's voice fucking rings in his head deliciously.
You can take it, Joey.
Fuck.
He manages to swallow, feeling his throat get tight around Derek before he finally releases his head. Kavinsky pulls back, gasping as soon as his mouth is free. He knows he's a slick mess of saliva and precome, lips wet and swollen as he tries to catch his breath. His hand slides up to wrap around Derek's cock, stroking to make up for the lack of his mouth.
"Holy shit," he breathes, voice raw. But he's grinning again. He sinks down, brushes his lips along the thick length as he looks up at Derek. "You gonna come down my throat or you wanna save it?"
That gasp is fucking satisfying, and Derek doesn't hide the proud, wolfish grin on his face when he watches Kavinsky compose himself. He enjoys the sight of Kavinsky between his legs, talking to him between long drags of his tongue, and he doesn't know if it feels good because of his genuine, raw attraction to the guy or if some scummy, aggressive part of him just loves to see someone he hates on their knees. Maybe he just wants it to be the latter when it's not.
He guides Kavinsky upwards, holding him by the chin with his thumb and forefinger, leading him into another kiss. He tastes himself on Kavinsky's tongue, saliva and pre all mingling together, and fuck, if he could get any harder, he would. He breaks the kiss, leaning back on his elbows - he could come more than once if he wanted to, but he shouldn't push his luck.
"Save it. I wanna make you come first."
Derek leans forward again, reaching out while he talks, curling his fingers around Kavinsky's cock at the word come. He holds eye contract, stroking in gentle, upward twists before gliding his hand back down.
"Tell me something you want," Derek says, slow, barely blinking. "Something I could give you better than anyone else."
He mumbles a curse against Derek's mouth when he starts stroking his dick, giving him a hint of the relief he's been dying for. Kavinsky rocks his hips forward, trying to get more as they kiss.
"Your dick," he mumbles, dazed and eager. He licks at Derek's mouth. "I wanna come on your cock. I want you to make me lose my fucking mind."
Derek's good at that. Better than almost anyone else he's fucked around with since getting here. And when it's over, he knows he can just bliss the fuck out for a little while, unable to think of anything but how damn good he feels.
His hips move steadily, fucking against Derek's palm as much as he can because he's fucking dying for something. Blow jobs like that always get him revved up.
"Use your mouth first, though." He grins and bites at Derek's bottom lip. "And lube, asshole." Even if a spitfuck from Derek would fuck him up good.
Easily done. Derek stays perfectly still, keeping his hand just loose enough around Kavinsky's cock to be shy of satisfying, teasing him in a rhythm parallel to the thrust of his hips. He sorta-jokingly sorta-not arches his eyebrow when Kavinsky calls him an asshole, a vague, not-so-serious threat that he'll pack his shit up and leave if Kavinsky starts disrespecting him, but. It doesn't last.
He leans in, curving away at the last second to kiss Kavinsky's neck instead of his lips. He takes a firmer hold of Kavinsky's dick and strokes faster, coating his hand with pre while he sucks a hickey against his throat hard enough and long enough to leave a bruise. When he pulls away, he pushes Kavinsky down by the chest to lay him flat on his back, positioning himself on his stomach between his legs to do as he's told. He wants Kavinsky to see him, while he's doing this. Wants him to watch.
Derek's gonna be a tease for a while. He's dragging his tongue in a long line up Kavinsky's thigh towards his cock, the scratch of his beard brushing against his skin. He swipes the end of his tongue against the tip of Kavinsky's cock, sweeping off pre, but other than that, there's just a ton of near misses until he's decided that's enough.
He sits up straighter, and without much warning, he's manhandling Kavinsky a little, lifting his lower back from the bed and hoisting his thighs over his shoulders. It gives him easier access to his hole, which Derek circles with his tongue, one hand curling back around Kavinsky's cock. He strokes, eating him out with long, circular twists of his tongue, fucking into him with it, getting him ready.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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?
no subject
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?"
no subject
"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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
"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."
no subject
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
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.
no subject
He hisses when Kavinsky scratches at his chest, but that's not enough to stop him from kissing him. He's not fully lost to this yet, each swift probing of his tongue lacking the primal, urgent need he's had when he's done this with Kavinsky in the past, but he's got his eyes closed, now, getting his pants off around his ankles and leaving them on the floor.
Derek doesn't take off his underwear so much as he just hooks his waistband beneath his balls, fishing out his cock with one hand, his other fist in the back of Kavinsky's hair and holding on tight. He's getting more and more aggressive, a year's worth of denial and self-preservation tactics learned throughout Duplicity allowing himself to just-- put aside his reservations. He drops both hands to Kavinsky's side and leans back, stripping his underwear the rest of the way, soon completely naked, hard as fuck and holding eye contact. It's surreal that he's doing this.
"You wanna put that pretty mouth of yours to work?"
'Cause, you know - he always has liked shutting Kavinsky up.
no subject
When they finally part, Kavinsky wets his lips and he can't help the wicked grin that lights his face. He doesn't bother answering, not verbally. Instead, he sinks down and teases his tongue over the head. Of course he wants this. He strokes his hand down Derek's thick cock and sinks lower, moaning at the familiar, heavy feel of him on his tongue.
Kavinsky reaches down to squeezes his own cock, trying to take the edge off a little as takes Derek as deep as he can. He bobs his head, trying to control the depth until he's ready to let Derek slide into his throat. He lets himself get sloppy, slick but not urgent yet.
no subject
If this is the only time they're going to do this, then fuck, he might as well enjoy it - and if they'll do this more than once, well. It's the first time he's fucked Kavinsky without being overtly angry at him. Nobody's going to know if he lets himself enjoy this.
He breathes in deep, softly breathing out as he spreads his legs a little wider and closes his eyes. Kavinsky's going fucking at it - the tight, wet suction around the head of his cock is almost enough to make his toes curl, but it's the eager way he manages to suck Derek down that fucking deep that fucking quickly that really gets to him. His legs go tense and he reaches one hand out to run his fingers through Kavinsky's hair, every ripped muscle of Derek's body tensed and tight.
"Fuck."
He doesn't guide Kavinsky yet, but he does ease him a little further down on his cock when he can take it, holding his head as he very gently fucks up into his throat. He's not being as rough as he could be, but he's a big guy - maybe he'll hold on too tight, maybe he'll gag Kavinsky, greedy to feel even more of his throat. He's trying his best not to, but - he doesn't know his own strength.
no subject
Kavinsky lets his eyes close and relaxes his throat as much as he can. Still, he gags for a second when Derek pushes deep. He recovers quickly, bobs his head back just enough before he sinks down again, as far as Derek can go. He tries to build up a rhythm like that with the weight of Derek's hand tangled in his hair. Every rock of Derek's hips, he feels him slide deep, fucking filling him.
His cock is fucking aching already and he grinds lazily against the bed, looking for friction the next time Derek slides into his throat. The angle isn't perfect, but it works.
no subject
"Easy. Breathe through your nose."
He's alternating between gripping Kavinsky's hair tight, guiding him more overtly through each bob of his head, to smoothing his fingers back through his hair, soothing and almost sweet. He loses himself in the feeling for a few minutes, neglecting Kavinsky's cock the whole time without really meaning to, but soon he wants Kavinsky to really take it.
He pushes Kavinsky down, further and further and further, easing him past his gag reflex and cooing quiet instructions to him, telling him to open his throat, to relax, as Derek has him deepthroat his cock. When Kavinsky's nose is buried at the base of his dick, Derek grunts hard through his teeth, barely panting out a coherent sentence -
"You can take it, Joey. I know you can."
- before letting go so he can surface. Fuck.
no subject
Kavinsky's almost euphoric by the time his nose nudges against Derek and all he can feel and all he can smell is him. His cock throbs against the bed and he can't help the way he moans. His hands are tight on Derek's hip and thigh and the man's voice fucking rings in his head deliciously.
You can take it, Joey.
Fuck.
He manages to swallow, feeling his throat get tight around Derek before he finally releases his head. Kavinsky pulls back, gasping as soon as his mouth is free. He knows he's a slick mess of saliva and precome, lips wet and swollen as he tries to catch his breath. His hand slides up to wrap around Derek's cock, stroking to make up for the lack of his mouth.
"Holy shit," he breathes, voice raw. But he's grinning again. He sinks down, brushes his lips along the thick length as he looks up at Derek. "You gonna come down my throat or you wanna save it?"
no subject
He guides Kavinsky upwards, holding him by the chin with his thumb and forefinger, leading him into another kiss. He tastes himself on Kavinsky's tongue, saliva and pre all mingling together, and fuck, if he could get any harder, he would. He breaks the kiss, leaning back on his elbows - he could come more than once if he wanted to, but he shouldn't push his luck.
"Save it. I wanna make you come first."
Derek leans forward again, reaching out while he talks, curling his fingers around Kavinsky's cock at the word come. He holds eye contract, stroking in gentle, upward twists before gliding his hand back down.
"Tell me something you want," Derek says, slow, barely blinking. "Something I could give you better than anyone else."
no subject
"Your dick," he mumbles, dazed and eager. He licks at Derek's mouth. "I wanna come on your cock. I want you to make me lose my fucking mind."
Derek's good at that. Better than almost anyone else he's fucked around with since getting here. And when it's over, he knows he can just bliss the fuck out for a little while, unable to think of anything but how damn good he feels.
His hips move steadily, fucking against Derek's palm as much as he can because he's fucking dying for something. Blow jobs like that always get him revved up.
"Use your mouth first, though." He grins and bites at Derek's bottom lip. "And lube, asshole." Even if a spitfuck from Derek would fuck him up good.
no subject
He leans in, curving away at the last second to kiss Kavinsky's neck instead of his lips. He takes a firmer hold of Kavinsky's dick and strokes faster, coating his hand with pre while he sucks a hickey against his throat hard enough and long enough to leave a bruise. When he pulls away, he pushes Kavinsky down by the chest to lay him flat on his back, positioning himself on his stomach between his legs to do as he's told. He wants Kavinsky to see him, while he's doing this. Wants him to watch.
Derek's gonna be a tease for a while. He's dragging his tongue in a long line up Kavinsky's thigh towards his cock, the scratch of his beard brushing against his skin. He swipes the end of his tongue against the tip of Kavinsky's cock, sweeping off pre, but other than that, there's just a ton of near misses until he's decided that's enough.
He sits up straighter, and without much warning, he's manhandling Kavinsky a little, lifting his lower back from the bed and hoisting his thighs over his shoulders. It gives him easier access to his hole, which Derek circles with his tongue, one hand curling back around Kavinsky's cock. He strokes, eating him out with long, circular twists of his tongue, fucking into him with it, getting him ready.
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)