"I missed you," he whispers, and tugs him into his lap, closer, and kisses him again, open mouthed and pretty. He pulls at his shirt, at Kavinksy's, like they are virgins and he wants more of him.
Kavinsky laughs, delirious with wanting and yes, needy. He straddles Nick’s lap, getting as close as he can as they kiss.. “I’m needy? You’re the one about to fuck up my wardrobe.”
He grins and pulls back enough to strip off his shirt, tossing it somewhere out of reach.
"You can dream another one," he says, opening his mouth for another kiss, and pushing him back so that he's on the floor and Nick is between his legs.
He hopes - really, he does - that Kavinsky gets out of his contract. That they can go back to this, without Nick feeling strange and displeased about it. That they can return to fucking like this and letting it real.
He leans down to bite at his throat though, leaving marks. Let the asshole know.
Kavinsky grins when his back hits the floor and he lolls his head back, leaving his throat exposed to Nick's teeth. He thinks of the fucking dream and how good it was. Kavinsky grabs Nick by the belt loops to haul him closer as he grinds up against him. He laughs, breathless, as Nick bites and sucks marks onto his neck.
"Fuck yes," he sighs. He hooks his legs around Nick and lets his hands move, pushing up along Nick's sides to get his shirt off. He's a junkie that hasn't had a hit in way too long.
He bites again, feral for a moment, even though Nick is always completely in control. At least when it comes to his boys. They have to know, to understand, there is a hierarchy here, and while K has some standing, Nick doesn't lose it. He won't, he can't.
Still, he hooks Kavinsky's leg over his elbow and pulls him up, not caring that they're both still dressed. He presses his erection, still covered in cloth, against K's ass. "This is what you want, right?" he asks, serious.
Kavinsky's fingers tangle in Nick's hair as he bites again, making sure to leave his calling card for Adam. The sharp drag that makes their bodies collide earns a quiet sound from him. Clothes don't matter: he uses what leverage he still has push against Nick, to keep their bodies tight together. His dark eyes are sharply focused when he looks up at Nick.
"You know it is."
Something in him twists like he's expecting another shoe to drop, for a condition to appear. You want this? Then give me something.
"Good," he says, because he won't be able to get him off and it'll make Nick crazy, so he needs to know that K is okay with that. He flicks his fingers, and Kavinsky's pants are gone, and Nick is reaching down to undo his own fly. "Where do you have lube?" he asks, because there are limits and for Nick this is one of them.
"You can magic my fuckin' pants off but you're gonna make me find the lube?" Kavinsky grins and rolls his hips to get more friction. "It's next to the bed. Been that long you don't fuckin' remember?"
He reaches to get his hand into Nick's pants as soon as his fly is down. God, he's missed his dick.
"You can't expect me to do all the work, Joseph," he says, and laughs a little, but then his hand is on Nick's dick and he groans a little, too happy to be touched to fight more. He rocks his hips up, and looks around, unsure for a moment. "Bless you, I'm going to have to go get it," he says, because he can't summon it if he doesn't know exactly where it is.
Kavinsky slides Nick's cock free so he can stroke him. "Nightstand. Left side of the bed. Right next to the light."
Maybe that won't help but it's worth a shot. "Fuck I missed how you feel," he sighs. He remembers how fucking good it felt in the dream. It's real to him. It will always be real to him.
Nick looks at Kavinsky for a moment, his smile sly, and he flicks his hand again. It appears in his fingers, the container held up victoriously. "Yeah?" he asks, and he kisses him under the jaw, on his collar, and then he works his way down to a nipple. He licks, flat, and with his hands he takes the lube, warms it on his fingers, and starts to open K up.
He's gotta admit, it's a good trick to have. Kavinsky lets his head drop back as Nick's mouth trails down neck, ending with the perfect slide of his tongue. He hears the cap click and just a moment later he's got Nick working on him. He looks euphoric and he moves his hips to meet every push of Nick's fingers, like he could get him deeper.
His breath catches and he grabs Nick's head to haul him into another kiss.
He hates whoever it is that took K away from him, because he didn't go anywhere, but his world narrowed away from Nick. It wasn't meant to be punishment, but they both know that's what it turned into.
He keeps opening him, adding another finger, huffing as he kisses him and kisses him. "Don't," he says, softly. Don't make him think about the fact that he won't be able to make him come.
Kavinsky tries to remember where his phone is. He put it down before Nick appeared. It doesn't matter: he's pretty sure Nick wouldn't like him firing off a message just to get off any more than something more overt. It's the principle of the thing. What a bullshit way to take a stand.
"Fuck--" He arches beneath Nick, losing himself in the feeling between breathless kisses. "Lemme have you, c'mon."
He doesn't care if this part is a rush job, he needs to fucking feel Nick in him again. It's what he wants.
"Yes," he says, and he pushes his trousers down, tugs them down, and doesn't hold back much more than that, slicking himself up fast before he pushes into Kavinsky, closing his eyes when he enters him, and huffing a breath. "Heaven-" he swears, and he knows it doesn't sound like it to mortal ears, but that's what it is, a hissing swear.
It's so good. "You're so tight," he mutters, and thrusts again, pushing into him with more force.
"Oh, fuck." Kavinsky grabs for Nick, gets hold of his thigh as he sinks in. It's a stretch but he doesn't fucking care, it feels good. His breath catches as Nick snaps his hips, pushes deeper. "Holy shit, Nick."
He likes hearing Nick swear, likes his weird blasphemies. Likes that he can inspire them in both anger and ecstasy.
"Unholy," he says, giving Kavinsky a little slap, just for invoking holiness into this. There's nothing here but sin, but the kind that feels so good, the kind that makes Nick a little crazy. He bites at K's shoulder, at his chest, he kisses his mouth and hopes that there's swelling, afterwards.
"Oh fuck you," he whines, a laugh on the edge of his voice. "Let me fuckin' blaspheme how I want."
That's the point, after all: to make the holy profane. Nick leaves bites and bruises and Kavinsky returns the favor: he wants to bruise Nick's lips, he wants to leave the shape of his mouth on his neck. He feels good, riding that edge he's gotten used to and finding pleasure there despite it all.
"No," he says, and he laughs, low and dark, and he keeps thrusting into him, tugging one of his legs over his shoulder for a different angle. There is something maddening about al of this, and Nick knows exactly what it is.
He wants Kavinsky to come, messy and sloppy, all over his stomach, but he won't. It's not going to happen. Instead he's going to suffer and wait. It's insanity; if he weren't so turned on right now, Nick would be sick about it. Later, he's going to remember that, and renew his promise - no sex until whatever this is goes away.
But for now he keeps pushing, keeps thrusting, going mad, losing himself in the sensations.
There it is. Kavinsky hits that plateau, that feeling that's frustrating and fucking mind-blowing. He grabs at Nick, blunt nails digging against his skin as he tries to drag him closer, get him deeper. And he has to admit it: there's something really fucking satisfying about seeing Nick lose it like this. He's fucking missed this.
And he misses the freedom Adam's curtailed, but that still hasn't stopped him from going after who he wants, what he wants. Only Nick has held out on him. Only Nick has refused him. He's not giving this up again.
"C'mon baby," he urges, breathless and dazed. Kavinsky's ready to flip him if Nick won't finish. He wants to feel him like nothing else.
It doesn't take much more, because Nick is dizzy with want, with desire for Kavinsky. He missed him, every inch of skin, every single pale touch and furious look. He's a hurricane, and Nick's got his dick inside of him, desperate as anything else.
He thrusts again, one last time, and he comes with a bite of Kavinsky's skin, shuddering over him.
But for the first time with him, he feels dirty.
He's not doing this again, not until he feels like they're equals.
Kavinsky moans sharply and drops his head back as Nick marks him, inside and out. He shivers hard beneath Nick and keeps a tight hold on him. He thinks of how it used to be. He thinks about the day he told Nick about the contract - the day he had Reggie locked in the trunk of the Chevelle because he needed to see Nick and he'd been willing to go that far to get him out.
He's trembling finely, trapped on the edge of an orgasm that he won't achieve without permission. But he doesn't want Nick to pull out or pull away. He wants to feel this for as long as he can because he's pretty sure it's the last time for a while.
He turns his head to kiss Nick's hair, keeps his arms around him, his legs tight against Nick's hips.
"But not yet." He brushes his fingers down the back of Nick's neck and follows the curve of his spine. Kavinsky catches Nick's chin and pulls him into a kiss, lingering there for as long as he can.
Eventually he lets Nick go, relaxing enough that he could pull out if he wants to. Kavinsky watches him, eyes nearly black in the dim light.
"What am I, Nick?" It feels like an existential question and Kavinsky isn't even sure what he means when he asks it. He feels cut loose again. "You keep bitching that I'm a stupid fucking mortal when you're unhappy with me. Like you expect me to be better than that."
"I do." He goes quiet a minute. "You're not a stupid fucking mortal. You shouldn't act like one," he adds, and shakes his head, but he presses his nose a little against K's cheek.
"You are something more. And you should know it." He nudges him. "You shouldn't be at anyone's beck and call."
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"Satan, you're needy."
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He grins and pulls back enough to strip off his shirt, tossing it somewhere out of reach.
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He hopes - really, he does - that Kavinsky gets out of his contract. That they can go back to this, without Nick feeling strange and displeased about it. That they can return to fucking like this and letting it real.
He leans down to bite at his throat though, leaving marks. Let the asshole know.
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"Fuck yes," he sighs. He hooks his legs around Nick and lets his hands move, pushing up along Nick's sides to get his shirt off. He's a junkie that hasn't had a hit in way too long.
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Still, he hooks Kavinsky's leg over his elbow and pulls him up, not caring that they're both still dressed. He presses his erection, still covered in cloth, against K's ass. "This is what you want, right?" he asks, serious.
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"You know it is."
Something in him twists like he's expecting another shoe to drop, for a condition to appear. You want this? Then give me something.
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He reaches to get his hand into Nick's pants as soon as his fly is down. God, he's missed his dick.
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Maybe that won't help but it's worth a shot. "Fuck I missed how you feel," he sighs. He remembers how fucking good it felt in the dream. It's real to him. It will always be real to him.
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"Satan I missed everything about you."
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He's gotta admit, it's a good trick to have. Kavinsky lets his head drop back as Nick's mouth trails down neck, ending with the perfect slide of his tongue. He hears the cap click and just a moment later he's got Nick working on him. He looks euphoric and he moves his hips to meet every push of Nick's fingers, like he could get him deeper.
His breath catches and he grabs Nick's head to haul him into another kiss.
"I didn't go anywhere."
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He keeps opening him, adding another finger, huffing as he kisses him and kisses him. "Don't," he says, softly. Don't make him think about the fact that he won't be able to make him come.
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"Fuck--" He arches beneath Nick, losing himself in the feeling between breathless kisses. "Lemme have you, c'mon."
He doesn't care if this part is a rush job, he needs to fucking feel Nick in him again. It's what he wants.
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It's so good. "You're so tight," he mutters, and thrusts again, pushing into him with more force.
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He likes hearing Nick swear, likes his weird blasphemies. Likes that he can inspire them in both anger and ecstasy.
"You feel so fucking good."
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That's the point, after all: to make the holy profane. Nick leaves bites and bruises and Kavinsky returns the favor: he wants to bruise Nick's lips, he wants to leave the shape of his mouth on his neck. He feels good, riding that edge he's gotten used to and finding pleasure there despite it all.
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He wants Kavinsky to come, messy and sloppy, all over his stomach, but he won't. It's not going to happen. Instead he's going to suffer and wait. It's insanity; if he weren't so turned on right now, Nick would be sick about it. Later, he's going to remember that, and renew his promise - no sex until whatever this is goes away.
But for now he keeps pushing, keeps thrusting, going mad, losing himself in the sensations.
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And he misses the freedom Adam's curtailed, but that still hasn't stopped him from going after who he wants, what he wants. Only Nick has held out on him. Only Nick has refused him. He's not giving this up again.
"C'mon baby," he urges, breathless and dazed. Kavinsky's ready to flip him if Nick won't finish. He wants to feel him like nothing else.
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It doesn't take much more, because Nick is dizzy with want, with desire for Kavinsky. He missed him, every inch of skin, every single pale touch and furious look. He's a hurricane, and Nick's got his dick inside of him, desperate as anything else.
He thrusts again, one last time, and he comes with a bite of Kavinsky's skin, shuddering over him.
But for the first time with him, he feels dirty.
He's not doing this again, not until he feels like they're equals.
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He's trembling finely, trapped on the edge of an orgasm that he won't achieve without permission. But he doesn't want Nick to pull out or pull away. He wants to feel this for as long as he can because he's pretty sure it's the last time for a while.
He turns his head to kiss Nick's hair, keeps his arms around him, his legs tight against Nick's hips.
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He stays there and doesn't say a word, and hates himself for breaking his word, and hates whoever this person who holds such a sway on Kavinsky is.
He presses his nose down, though, and kisses him on the jaw. "I'm going to have to move soon."
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Eventually he lets Nick go, relaxing enough that he could pull out if he wants to. Kavinsky watches him, eyes nearly black in the dim light.
"What am I, Nick?" It feels like an existential question and Kavinsky isn't even sure what he means when he asks it. He feels cut loose again. "You keep bitching that I'm a stupid fucking mortal when you're unhappy with me. Like you expect me to be better than that."
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"You are something more. And you should know it." He nudges him. "You shouldn't be at anyone's beck and call."
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