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."
Adam is something more, too. He knows it and Kavinsky wonders if that would change Nick's opinion. He doubts it, because Adam's control over him is what is so offensive. He turns his head to breathe Nick in as he leans close.
"I don't know what I am." A mistake, a fluke. Except Ronan exists and if there's two of them, it can't be a mistake. And everything was fine before Ronan appeared. He sighs and tries to get another kiss.
"Fuck this place," he agrees, gently, and kisses him again. He takes his moment, and doesn't go away. There's a part of him that wants to, but at the moment, he's not pulling away.
He shakes his head. "You don't have to know. Just value yourself."
"Like you value me, huh?" He almost laughs but it feels hollow. Kavinsky has been recklessly courting death for so long that he isn't sure he knows how to stop. He traces his fingers along Nick's arm, feeling strange without his grief and his rage. But it's only for tonight.
He thinks, unbidden, of how it felt to wake up with Prokopenko alive again. Maybe he could dream himself a Nick that loves him. But if he'd been interested in that, he'd have his very own Ronan by now.
"More than whoever it is that holds your contract does," he says, because of course they're going to fight. Well. Maybe not. He rocks his hands over Kavinsky's hair.
Punishing them. That's not his intention. "This isn't about punishment," he says, kissing him again. "This isn't about punishing you. I just don't like it."
He realizes, obliquely, Adam stayed with him on the 4th to make sure he didn't off himself. Kavinsky doesn't chase the question, though, leaving it alone as Nick strokes his hair. It feels good and he doesn't want this to stop.
"You don't like it, so you cut me off." He leans up for another kiss. "How's that not like a punishment?" Kavinsky knows he should probably let it go. This isn't like Nick disappearing into his apartment for weeks. They at least see each other still.
"Is that all I'm worth to you?" he asks, darkly. "A good fuck?"
He pulls back, a bit. Nick isn't particularly concerned with kindness. He isn't particularly caught up in those things. "Because if it is, then yes, it probably looks like punishment."
He isn't leaving. He just gets up to go to the bathroom, to find a towel to wipe them both off. He comes back a moment later. "I don't like it. There's a lot of stuff I won't do, and one of them is this."
“If this was just sex I wouldn’t give a shit. And I think you know that.”
There are other people willing to fuck him despite this. But he wants Nick. This hasn’t been about just sex in a long time. But Kavinsky doesn’t know how to separate it out. He gets tense when Nick gets up, almost grabs for him. Even when Nick comes back, he doesn’t quite relax.
“The dream was real to me.” What he said was real even if Nick could just wave it off.
He goes a little still. They didn't talk about it. They didn't discuss the shit they said in that dream, maybe for this reason. Because it's awkward. Because it's terrible.
Because Nick doesn't feel that same bottomless wellspring of love that he feels for Sabrina with K. Or with Reggie, and that's the real crime.
But he cares about him, more than he would care about a mortal boy, or even one of his warlocks back home. "I can have sex with you in dreams," he says. Like a peace offering.
Kavinsky will never understand how Reggie has come to deserve that love, when he’s as mortal and as fallible as K is. It gnaws at him, it twists in him with unrelenting savagery. Just like with Ronan, he feels the temptation to destroy everything, himself included.
What is the point when he knows he will never have what that idiot in a letterman jacket does?
It’s for the best that some of his rage is in a bottle with all of his grief.
“Wouldn’t want you to compromise your principles.” His rage, but not his bitterness. He should take the offer. He wants. His dreams are freedom but he will never have the boy from the woods. Another boy. Another dream forest. It was never going to be you and me.
He sighs, and moves back. Sits back, really, as soon as his clothes are back on. "Make up your Satan-blessed mind, Joseph. You can't have it every damned way."
His voice is dark, but there's a raw sort of tenderness there, too. "I'm here now, aren't I?"
"All I want is everything," he says, watching Nick cover up. Kavinsky makes no move to do the same. His arousal flags, and he knows it will fade if he lets it. It's difficult while looking at Nick, but not impossible. Especially not given the weight of the conversation. "Always been that simple."
He wants to swallow the tenderness in Nick's voice. He wants to wrap it around his bones and carry it with him.
"You're here now," he echoes. "That does mean something to me."
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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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"I don't know what I am." A mistake, a fluke. Except Ronan exists and if there's two of them, it can't be a mistake. And everything was fine before Ronan appeared. He sighs and tries to get another kiss.
"Fuck this place."
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He shakes his head. "You don't have to know. Just value yourself."
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He thinks, unbidden, of how it felt to wake up with Prokopenko alive again. Maybe he could dream himself a Nick that loves him. But if he'd been interested in that, he'd have his very own Ronan by now.
"You know you're just punishing us, right?"
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Punishing them. That's not his intention. "This isn't about punishment," he says, kissing him again. "This isn't about punishing you. I just don't like it."
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He realizes, obliquely, Adam stayed with him on the 4th to make sure he didn't off himself. Kavinsky doesn't chase the question, though, leaving it alone as Nick strokes his hair. It feels good and he doesn't want this to stop.
"You don't like it, so you cut me off." He leans up for another kiss. "How's that not like a punishment?" Kavinsky knows he should probably let it go. This isn't like Nick disappearing into his apartment for weeks. They at least see each other still.
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He pulls back, a bit. Nick isn't particularly concerned with kindness. He isn't particularly caught up in those things. "Because if it is, then yes, it probably looks like punishment."
He isn't leaving. He just gets up to go to the bathroom, to find a towel to wipe them both off. He comes back a moment later. "I don't like it. There's a lot of stuff I won't do, and one of them is this."
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There are other people willing to fuck him despite this. But he wants Nick. This hasn’t been about just sex in a long time. But Kavinsky doesn’t know how to separate it out. He gets tense when Nick gets up, almost grabs for him. Even when Nick comes back, he doesn’t quite relax.
“The dream was real to me.” What he said was real even if Nick could just wave it off.
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Because Nick doesn't feel that same bottomless wellspring of love that he feels for Sabrina with K. Or with Reggie, and that's the real crime.
But he cares about him, more than he would care about a mortal boy, or even one of his warlocks back home. "I can have sex with you in dreams," he says. Like a peace offering.
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What is the point when he knows he will never have what that idiot in a letterman jacket does?
It’s for the best that some of his rage is in a bottle with all of his grief.
“Wouldn’t want you to compromise your principles.” His rage, but not his bitterness. He should take the offer. He wants. His dreams are freedom but he will never have the boy from the woods. Another boy. Another dream forest. It was never going to be you and me.
“But I’m not gonna stop you from showing up.”
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His voice is dark, but there's a raw sort of tenderness there, too. "I'm here now, aren't I?"
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He wants to swallow the tenderness in Nick's voice. He wants to wrap it around his bones and carry it with him.
"You're here now," he echoes. "That does mean something to me."