"Fuck," he sighs against Ronan's skin as his hips move beneath him. Just that is enough to make him ache, never mind the sight of Ronan's full cock. He can already feel the weight of it on his tongue, intimately remembers how it feels to have him in his mouth. His dream boy.
It's a tightrope with this boy and Kavinsky knows his part in that. He can't let him go. One hand presses to Ronan's chest while the other slides down, fingers curling around the delicious thickness of him as he strokes down the length. There's lines drawn in shifting sands and there have been ever since Fort Harmony. Kavinsky isn't blind and he isn't an idiot - he knows the moment the contract is up, unless he does something about it, Ronan's out the door.
But he can give him what he's always promised him: a good time. Every time he rolled up next to the BMW at a stop light on some dark and wasted Henrietta night, every time he threw a punch, every time they dreamed, every time he touched him, that's what he offers. Something Ronan will never quite find anywhere else.
Kavinsky stares at Ronan's face while his hand moves, gauging his reaction and ready to move if a fist comes at his head.
Though Ronan throws a sharp look at Kavinsky with that touch, he answers it not with a punch but with a moan. The sound rolls out of him just as heat rushes to the base of his spine. With his mouth hanging open like that, he seems torn between begging for more or demanding that Kavinsky stop.
In the end, he has no words. His hips jerk forward, pushing and thrusting into Kavinsky's fist. This is the closest he'll get to asking Kavinsky to keep going, at least while he's still inhibited by his good sense.
The sound of Ronan's voice slithers down his back and through his brain and Kavinsky just grins at the look on his face. Like every other time, Ronan won't say no and he can't bring himself to say yes. That's fine.
Kavinsky holds Ronan's gaze like a snake charmer as he sinks down; he only breaks it to run his tongue over the head of his cock.
"You have a perfect dick, princess," he sighs as his lips drift down the length of him. He isn't in a hurry. Maybe he should be, but he likes dangerous games.
Ronan shuts his eyes and turns his face away, as though he can deny himself any pleasure by doing so, or at least deny Kavinsky the pleasure of seeing it written on his features. The compliment is met with silence, at first, until the journey of Kavinsky's mouth draws another stuttering moan out of him.
Refusing to acknowledge Kavinsky as anything more than a sensation working its way along his dick, Ronan's hands clutch at the bed sheets rather than reaching for him. His knuckles go white with the battle against his urges. He fights to keep still.
Kavinsky takes his time teasing his mouth over Ronan's cock, fucking savoring what he's getting away with. He strokes his hand down and his mouth follows, taking Ronan as far as he can before he has to make an effort. His cock is heavy on his tongue and against the back of his throat and, after another breath, Kavinsky takes him further.
Choking himself on Ronan Lynch's dick is easily one of his top five ways to leave this world.
His hands slide over Ronan's thighs and hips, up his sides and back down again as he tries swallowing around him. It makes his eyes water and it's fucking worth it. He doesn't pull back until he starts getting lightheaded; as good as dying on Ronan's cock might sound, he wants to stick around to enjoy this. Especially with the sounds his dream boy is making.
Especially now. The increased pressure and the heat of Kavinsky's mouth around him has Ronan gasping and groaning, a rising chorus of agony over the absolute ecstasy of it. He doesn't want to feel this way, doesn't want Kavinsky to make him feel this way, but he does. He does.
When Kavinsky begins to pull back, Ronan forgets himself, finally snatching at Kavinsky's hair. He forces Kavinsky's mouth back into him, but only for a moment, before he seems to remember that he isn't supposed to be doing this. He shoves Kavinsky away, instead, and his cock slips free to bob and smack wetly against his skin.
"That's enough," he hisses, though neither of them have come yet. Perhaps Kavinsky's spell on him has been broken.
Kavinsky groans when Ronan suddenly grabs his head and forces him down. The sudden violence makes his cock throb but it doesn't last long - not the way he wants it to. He pops off Ronan's cock with a slick, obscene sound as his head is shoved back.
A grin curves his mouth as he pants for breath, staring at Ronan like he spoke a challenge. "Is it?"
His hands are free and one wraps around Ronan's dick, taking over where his mouth left off. Kavinsky leans in, pressing his hand into Ronan's shoulder as he looms. His towel has come loose and it sags around his thighs, revealing his arousal. As if Ronan didn't know. He's always burning for this boy. Ronan's a match and Kavinsky is kerosene.
Ronan melts into the touch, his muscles temporarily losing their strength so that he seems to sink further into the mattress before rutting up again. He's flushed and feverish, and when his gaze drops to Kavinsky's unveiled cock, he can't make himself look away.
"Yes," he whispers, but it sounds more like giving permission than giving argument. With another thrust into Kavinsky's hand, his body pleads for the attention he's refusing.
Kavinsky moves, keeping his weight in the hand on Ronan's shoulder. He loosens his grip on his cock so he can slide his own against it; the friction makes him moan. He manages to get his hand around them both and rocks his hips lazily.
He tips his head down, lets his lips and teeth drag along the sharp line of Ronan's jaw.
A soft ah shivers out of Ronan as Kavinsky's cock slides up against his own, sending an electric shock of excitement through him. He throbs and pulses, pre-come slicking the tight space between them, making every repressed thrust of his hips that much more pleasurable in spite of his efforts.
Unthinking, he lays his head back and bares his throat to Kavinsky. His palms, pressed to the mattress, only serve to steady him as their bodies rock together. His thighs spread wider to make space for Kavinsky between them, then squeeze again, hugging his hips.
Kavinsky's voice answers Ronan's as their bodies move together. He presses a kiss to Ronan's throat and licks a path to the perfect spot on his neck; he bites down, sucks hard. He wants to leave his mark.
He lets go of Ronan's cock to grab his thigh, dragging their bodies together the next time he pushes his hips up. All he wants to do is sink into him, fill him up. That's one of the shifting lines and he knows it. Every thrust and grind gets easier as precome slicks their skin. He's tempted to grab the lube but he doesn't want to give up this feeling.
"Fuck you," Ronan answers in a resentful gasp as he bucks, increasingly losing control. They're hitting a rhythm that's indistinguishable from fucking, except that Kavinsky's not inside him. Yet.
But as their movements grow wilder and Ronan rocks upward with too much enthusiasm, Kavinsky's cock slips down, the very tip of it grazing Ronan's hole. Just the suggestion of that touch has Ronan moaning, though he instantly jerks back and away from it.
"You could," he says, a laugh filling his breathless voice. Kavinsky's hand stays tight on Ronan's thigh and he moans sharply when their bodies move just right and his cock slides low. "Oh fuck--"
Ronan jerks beneath him but his grip doesn't relent. "Scared you'll love it?" He's seen Ronan give in, he knows how fucking good he can make this boy feel. Kavinsky pushes himself up, manic with need and with inspiration. He pulls back and uses his hold on Ronan's thigh to start flipping him over. He's quick, a scrapper, taking advantage of any lag between Ronan's brain and his ability to react. Kavinsky grabs the back of Ronan's neck to push his head down as his cock drags between his cheeks.
Ronan could fight it, if he wanted to, but of course he doesn't. He only offers a moment's resistance before he lands on his stomach. Though every muscle in his back goes tense and his fingers hook like claws into the mattress, he remains pinned beneath Kavinsky, panting with the uptick of either anxiety or excitement.
It's no accident that his spine is curved the way it is, offering Kavinsky more access than he deserves. That drag of his cock makes Ronan tremble and spread himself wider by reflex.
The curve of his back is an invitation and Kavinsky is never one to pass up a door that's been left open. His hands drag down Ronan's back, over the black ink filling up his skin, and Kavinsky spits between them as he works his hips in hungry, urgent thrusts.
"Look at you," he breathes, dazed and full of want even as he chases that delicious friction. Kavinsky presses his palm against the small of Ronan's back and leans so he has a better view. Committing the reality to memory so he can play it back later, as many times as he wants, in dreams.
"You know what you fuckin do." His mouth is running and he can't stop it. He pushes his knees against Ronan's and leans over him, giving up his view so he can get close to Ronan's ear. "You see it and you drink it the fuck up, don't think I don't notice."
Ronan wants him. It's not a fucking secret but he treats it like the most unlikely theory ever concocted. But Kavinsky can see it; a sight hound that hunts desire. He wants to bury himself in his dream boy, he wants to hook his claws in Ronan and never let him go. They're the same, they belong together. Why won't he admit it?
Ronan shakes his head, a jerk so subtle it could go overlooked if Kavinsky wanted to deny it. There won't be any admission here, though. They don't belong together. Ronan has been saving himself for Adam all this time, and Kavinsky knows it. Desire for something to happen doesn't mean it should happen.
The desire is very real, though, and Ronan incapable of resisting it, even if he's trying not to chase it. He tucks his face against the sheets to stifle the needy sounds rising up out of him. He's shaking with nerves, the vibration reverberating through Kavinsky at every point of contact. Even so, he does nothing to pull himself away from Kavinsky's cock as it drags against him, certain in its intention.
Kavinsky chases his pleasure, jaw tight as he fucks between Ronan's cheeks because this is what he can get away with. He fucks him like he dreams of doing, just to remind Ronan what he could have if he would just give in.
He uses his knees to push Ronan's thighs further apart, bringing his hips closer to the bed until he's caught between the friction of the blankets and Kavinsky's cock. He's reduced to panting breaths and quiet, urgent sounds as he hits his peak.
With a grunt, he pushes himself up more so that he can watch himself come. Kavinsky forces himself to slow down, dragging out those final, fluid movements as he spills against Ronan's skin. He lets the head of his cock slide past his hole, lets his thumb brush over it but doesn't offer any penetration.
Ronan allows himself to be used like this, as always. There's laughably little difference between this act and penetration, except that only Kavinsky receives gratification from this. And, really, if Kavinsky is getting so much pleasure out of him, what is it that Ronan's saving for Adam, anyway? Either way, Kavinsky fucks him into the bed. Either way, Kavinsky marks him with his sin.
Even when Kavinsky spills out onto his back, Ronan doesn't react. Not until he feels that brush against his hole again, when his own desire instantly sparks back to life. He lets out a soft moan at the teasing, pushing back for just the slightest increase in pressure. Everything slips and slides so easily against his skin, now that he's coated in Kavinsky's seed.
"I want..." he starts, then stops, unsure of his own request. He gropes blindly behind him, instead, until his fingers catch Kavinsky's cock - not yet softened, but safely spent. Ronan draws the head of it to his hole again, teasing himself with it some more, threatening to push it inside but maybe unsure how.
Kavinsky's lips part as Ronan's fingers curl around his cock to guide him close again. "Fuck," he breathes, and those words brand themselves in his mind: I want. He wets his lips and stares as Ronan's hips push back, asking for what he can't muster the words to say. He rocks against Ronan, teasing him with the possibility just to see what he does. He lets the tip of his thumb push in, instead.
"You want this, princess?" he asks, quietly breathless.
Ronan swallows down a moan as he nods. Only once. The barest acknowledgment of his need.
Kavinsky can take it from here, undoubtedly. Ronan's hand drops away from his cock to brace against the bed, giving him leverage to rock back and take a little more of Kavinsky's thumb into him.
"It doesn't count," he insists, in case Kavinsky gets the wrong idea in his head. "You already got off, so it doesn't fucking count. I just wanna know what it feels like."
"Doesn't count, huh?" Catholic ingenuity at its best. He lets his thumb sink deeper as Ronan pushes back against him. Kavinsky leans over Ronan and plucks up the lube off his nightstand. His head is buzzing and everything feels electric as he dribbles lube between them, making an obscene mess of it as he slides his cock through it,
He slips his thumb out and replaces it with a slick finger, and just a few breathes later, a second. He moves them lazily, looking for that spot that he knows will make Ronan feel good. He wants him to feel good.
"Fuck," Ronan hisses, pressing his forehead to the mattress as he pushes back to take that finger deeper. His body sways as he begins to fuck himself on it, incremental and experimental rolling of his hips to explore how much he can take.
Then the tip of Kavinsky's finger brushes just the right spot and it's like a fuse being lit. He gasps and seeks it again, spreading himself wider because one finger isn't enough. He grunts impatiently, "Quit fucking around."
Any more prepping and Kavinsky will go soft before Ronan gets to have him.
Kavinsky pulls back, slips his fingers free and he strokes lube over himself. He'll fucking die if he loses his erection before he gets this. He leans over Ronan as he pushes in. The obscene amount of lube help but he still feels tight and he drops his head down, forehead resting against Ronan's back as he sinks as deep as he can.
"Oh fuck--" His mouth hangs open and he pushes his hips against the curve of Ronan's ass like he can somehow get deeper. "Ronan--"
Ronan's breath hitches sharply. Though he's the one who demanded it, the sudden stretch and ache of Kavinsky filling him is a shock he didn't quite expect. Every muscle in his body goes tense and he squeezes tight around Kavinsky's cock, locking him in place.
"Oh, God," he gasps, shivering like he's too afraid to make another move. All he does is cradle Kavinsky inside him, stuffed to the hilt with him, overwhelmed by the intimate vulnerability of their two bodies becoming one.
For a minute it's just the two of them breathing. Kavinsky doesn't move other than to slide his hand along Ronan's side. He tries moving his hips just a little, breath catching at the resistance. "C'mon," he sighs as he runs his hands over Ronan's back, over his his hips and back up along his ribs. "C'mon, sweetheart."
He waits as long as it takes and when he can, he rocks his hips back, drawing out a couple inches before he sinks back in, nice and slow. It's agony and it's ecstasy and Kavinsky never wants it to stop.
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It's a tightrope with this boy and Kavinsky knows his part in that. He can't let him go. One hand presses to Ronan's chest while the other slides down, fingers curling around the delicious thickness of him as he strokes down the length. There's lines drawn in shifting sands and there have been ever since Fort Harmony. Kavinsky isn't blind and he isn't an idiot - he knows the moment the contract is up, unless he does something about it, Ronan's out the door.
But he can give him what he's always promised him: a good time. Every time he rolled up next to the BMW at a stop light on some dark and wasted Henrietta night, every time he threw a punch, every time they dreamed, every time he touched him, that's what he offers. Something Ronan will never quite find anywhere else.
Kavinsky stares at Ronan's face while his hand moves, gauging his reaction and ready to move if a fist comes at his head.
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In the end, he has no words. His hips jerk forward, pushing and thrusting into Kavinsky's fist. This is the closest he'll get to asking Kavinsky to keep going, at least while he's still inhibited by his good sense.
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Kavinsky holds Ronan's gaze like a snake charmer as he sinks down; he only breaks it to run his tongue over the head of his cock.
"You have a perfect dick, princess," he sighs as his lips drift down the length of him. He isn't in a hurry. Maybe he should be, but he likes dangerous games.
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Refusing to acknowledge Kavinsky as anything more than a sensation working its way along his dick, Ronan's hands clutch at the bed sheets rather than reaching for him. His knuckles go white with the battle against his urges. He fights to keep still.
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Choking himself on Ronan Lynch's dick is easily one of his top five ways to leave this world.
His hands slide over Ronan's thighs and hips, up his sides and back down again as he tries swallowing around him. It makes his eyes water and it's fucking worth it. He doesn't pull back until he starts getting lightheaded; as good as dying on Ronan's cock might sound, he wants to stick around to enjoy this. Especially with the sounds his dream boy is making.
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When Kavinsky begins to pull back, Ronan forgets himself, finally snatching at Kavinsky's hair. He forces Kavinsky's mouth back into him, but only for a moment, before he seems to remember that he isn't supposed to be doing this. He shoves Kavinsky away, instead, and his cock slips free to bob and smack wetly against his skin.
"That's enough," he hisses, though neither of them have come yet. Perhaps Kavinsky's spell on him has been broken.
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A grin curves his mouth as he pants for breath, staring at Ronan like he spoke a challenge. "Is it?"
His hands are free and one wraps around Ronan's dick, taking over where his mouth left off. Kavinsky leans in, pressing his hand into Ronan's shoulder as he looms. His towel has come loose and it sags around his thighs, revealing his arousal. As if Ronan didn't know. He's always burning for this boy. Ronan's a match and Kavinsky is kerosene.
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"Yes," he whispers, but it sounds more like giving permission than giving argument. With another thrust into Kavinsky's hand, his body pleads for the attention he's refusing.
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Kavinsky moves, keeping his weight in the hand on Ronan's shoulder. He loosens his grip on his cock so he can slide his own against it; the friction makes him moan. He manages to get his hand around them both and rocks his hips lazily.
He tips his head down, lets his lips and teeth drag along the sharp line of Ronan's jaw.
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Unthinking, he lays his head back and bares his throat to Kavinsky. His palms, pressed to the mattress, only serve to steady him as their bodies rock together. His thighs spread wider to make space for Kavinsky between them, then squeeze again, hugging his hips.
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He lets go of Ronan's cock to grab his thigh, dragging their bodies together the next time he pushes his hips up. All he wants to do is sink into him, fill him up. That's one of the shifting lines and he knows it. Every thrust and grind gets easier as precome slicks their skin. He's tempted to grab the lube but he doesn't want to give up this feeling.
"You feel so fucking good."
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But as their movements grow wilder and Ronan rocks upward with too much enthusiasm, Kavinsky's cock slips down, the very tip of it grazing Ronan's hole. Just the suggestion of that touch has Ronan moaning, though he instantly jerks back and away from it.
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Ronan jerks beneath him but his grip doesn't relent. "Scared you'll love it?" He's seen Ronan give in, he knows how fucking good he can make this boy feel. Kavinsky pushes himself up, manic with need and with inspiration. He pulls back and uses his hold on Ronan's thigh to start flipping him over. He's quick, a scrapper, taking advantage of any lag between Ronan's brain and his ability to react. Kavinsky grabs the back of Ronan's neck to push his head down as his cock drags between his cheeks.
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It's no accident that his spine is curved the way it is, offering Kavinsky more access than he deserves. That drag of his cock makes Ronan tremble and spread himself wider by reflex.
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"Look at you," he breathes, dazed and full of want even as he chases that delicious friction. Kavinsky presses his palm against the small of Ronan's back and leans so he has a better view. Committing the reality to memory so he can play it back later, as many times as he wants, in dreams.
"You know what you fuckin do." His mouth is running and he can't stop it. He pushes his knees against Ronan's and leans over him, giving up his view so he can get close to Ronan's ear. "You see it and you drink it the fuck up, don't think I don't notice."
Ronan wants him. It's not a fucking secret but he treats it like the most unlikely theory ever concocted. But Kavinsky can see it; a sight hound that hunts desire. He wants to bury himself in his dream boy, he wants to hook his claws in Ronan and never let him go. They're the same, they belong together. Why won't he admit it?
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The desire is very real, though, and Ronan incapable of resisting it, even if he's trying not to chase it. He tucks his face against the sheets to stifle the needy sounds rising up out of him. He's shaking with nerves, the vibration reverberating through Kavinsky at every point of contact. Even so, he does nothing to pull himself away from Kavinsky's cock as it drags against him, certain in its intention.
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He uses his knees to push Ronan's thighs further apart, bringing his hips closer to the bed until he's caught between the friction of the blankets and Kavinsky's cock. He's reduced to panting breaths and quiet, urgent sounds as he hits his peak.
With a grunt, he pushes himself up more so that he can watch himself come. Kavinsky forces himself to slow down, dragging out those final, fluid movements as he spills against Ronan's skin. He lets the head of his cock slide past his hole, lets his thumb brush over it but doesn't offer any penetration.
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Even when Kavinsky spills out onto his back, Ronan doesn't react. Not until he feels that brush against his hole again, when his own desire instantly sparks back to life. He lets out a soft moan at the teasing, pushing back for just the slightest increase in pressure. Everything slips and slides so easily against his skin, now that he's coated in Kavinsky's seed.
"I want..." he starts, then stops, unsure of his own request. He gropes blindly behind him, instead, until his fingers catch Kavinsky's cock - not yet softened, but safely spent. Ronan draws the head of it to his hole again, teasing himself with it some more, threatening to push it inside but maybe unsure how.
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"You want this, princess?" he asks, quietly breathless.
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Kavinsky can take it from here, undoubtedly. Ronan's hand drops away from his cock to brace against the bed, giving him leverage to rock back and take a little more of Kavinsky's thumb into him.
"It doesn't count," he insists, in case Kavinsky gets the wrong idea in his head. "You already got off, so it doesn't fucking count. I just wanna know what it feels like."
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He slips his thumb out and replaces it with a slick finger, and just a few breathes later, a second. He moves them lazily, looking for that spot that he knows will make Ronan feel good. He wants him to feel good.
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Then the tip of Kavinsky's finger brushes just the right spot and it's like a fuse being lit. He gasps and seeks it again, spreading himself wider because one finger isn't enough. He grunts impatiently, "Quit fucking around."
Any more prepping and Kavinsky will go soft before Ronan gets to have him.
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Kavinsky pulls back, slips his fingers free and he strokes lube over himself. He'll fucking die if he loses his erection before he gets this. He leans over Ronan as he pushes in. The obscene amount of lube help but he still feels tight and he drops his head down, forehead resting against Ronan's back as he sinks as deep as he can.
"Oh fuck--" His mouth hangs open and he pushes his hips against the curve of Ronan's ass like he can somehow get deeper. "Ronan--"
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"Oh, God," he gasps, shivering like he's too afraid to make another move. All he does is cradle Kavinsky inside him, stuffed to the hilt with him, overwhelmed by the intimate vulnerability of their two bodies becoming one.
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He waits as long as it takes and when he can, he rocks his hips back, drawing out a couple inches before he sinks back in, nice and slow. It's agony and it's ecstasy and Kavinsky never wants it to stop.
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