everyone leaves [dated to 10/29/2015]

[thedreamthief]

By the time Ronan goes looking, he realizes he has no idea how long Adam has actually been gone. Maybe only hours, maybe a day or two. Maybe nearly a week.

After Noah's visit the other night, Ronan had made a decision. And, as necessary a decision as it is, Ronan is being an absolute coward in going through with it. Still, after three days of successful avoidance and not so much as a text from Parrish, Ronan starts to wonder.

He tries the sporting goods store first where he learns Adam hasn't been in since his last shift, which was days ago. The garage gives him the same news: no sign of Adam since Sunday.

Adam Parrish doesn't skip work. Ever.

Gut twisted in knots, Ronan swung by Adam's apartment, then his own. He tried Gansey's and Blue's (no answer), then Noah's (also no answer). He tried the fucking factory they haven't even moved into yet, the cat cafe, the park and the beach. He's called Parrish's phone at least three dozen times and Gansey's almost as many until Gansey had finally replied to say he hadn't seen or heard anything in days either, the carefully concealed worry only making Ronan's own spike white-hot.

Ronan slams on the brakes, tires squealing.

The realization is a punch to the gut, nearly knocking Ronan to his knees before turning into white hot flame as he does a U-turn in the middle of the road, heading toward the first place he can think to find Kavinsky.

He jumps out of the Pig when he gets there, nearly bangs down the door to the warehouse with his bare hands, rage and fear and desperation vibrating off his skin.

"Kavinsky! Kavinsky, you fucking cuntrag. I'm gonna kill you, I swear to God. I'm gonna fucking cut your head off and stick it on a goddamn pole."

Comments

[mitsubishievo]

Kavinsky made a noise suspiciously like a whine, a shiver running across his shoulders, as Ronan yanked at his hair again. It didn't stop him. He sank his mouth, lips spread wide and tight, down around Ronan's cock, the head slipping, pressing, pushing into his throat and he swallowed. He pressed his thumb against Ronan's Adams apple, an insistent pressure, not meant to choke but an insistence. This was where he felt it, all the way down, as he relaxed and took him, until his nose as pressed into the thatch of Ronan's pubic hair, until there was nothing more for him to take.

He could stick out his tongue and lick Ronan's balls, filthy and obscene in the gesture more than the act. Instead, he swallowed, throat working rhythmic around the head of Ronan's cock, as he shifted the V of his thumb-and-forefinger to rest easily and low on Ronan's collarbone, feeling his pulse, feeling his breathing.

Here was a thing that Kavinsky could dream a hundred times over in his head and never quite get right. No matter how well he knew someone, this moment would never be the same between reality and dreams and a dream-made-flesh.

[thedreamthief]

"Fuck," Ronan breathes, legs shaking as his dick slips down Kavinsky's throat, enveloping him in sucking, wet heat. Kavinsky's thumb presses against Ronan's Adam's apple at the same time, like a mirror Ronan thinks in a daze, like he's showing Ronan just exactly where he's feeling the press of Ronan's cock.

It lasts for only a moment before Kavinsky's slipping his hand down to Ronan's collarbone, his throat still working around Ronan's dick.

It's too good, Kavinsky is too fucking good at this, and Ronan roughly yanks him off, eyes dark as he keeps hold of Kavinsky with one hand, keeps him down, hovering over Ronan's cock. He grabs himself with his free hand, roughly jerking himself those last few strokes to the edge before every muscle in his abdomen draws tight and he's coming, shooting over Kavinsky's jaw and neck and over his fingers, watching as it clings to Kavinsky's bottom lip.

[mitsubishievo]

Kavinsky got in only a few solid swallows, just getting a good feel of it, when he felt Ronan's fist tighten in his hair and pull him back. He choked, brief and startled, as he was pulled off, coughing for a second on the spit and precome that lingered in the back of his mouth, and the pain that washed from his scalp and down his spine.

The first streak of come on his face gets only a startled, wide-eyed look. By the time that Ronan's finished, though, Kavinsky's brain had caught up with what had just happened, that he'd been bereft of getting to suck Ronan to completion.

He shoved Ronan in the hip, sitting up and looking for something to wipe his face off on even as his cock continued to throb excitedly in his pants.

[thedreamthief]

Ronan stares, mouth open to gasp in breath as he paints Kavinsky's chin and jaw with come, each delicious tremor rocking through him, his fingers slick with spunk. His lips twitch into a grin at the look of pure shock that colors Kavinsky's eyes and he can't help that laugh that bubbles free as he starts to come down.

"Shit, man, your face," he says, still laughing as he wipes his messy hand across his stomach.

Kavinsky shoves at him and Ronan still can't help grinning and he shifts a little, his eyes dropping to the front of Kavinsky's pants and then back up again, watching as he wipes the jizz off his face. He feels strangely smug, feels a little bit more like he's channeling Kavinsky as he leans back, arms behind his head, and says, "Baby's first facial?"

[mitsubishievo]

"Yeah, we'll get a good look at your face when I'm done punching the shit out of it. Jesus Christ, Lynch."

Kavinsky ignored Ronan's aggressive, desirable posture, ignored the ache between his legs that wanted him to rub against something. He scooped a shirt off the ground, uncaring of whose it was, and wiped his face off.

"Look, man, I don't know how many facials you've gotten, but there is nothing less appealing than snot-consistency, lukewarm jizz, okay?" He grumbled vaguely under his breath in Bulgarian, scrubbing at his face in a vague attempt to hide his burning face and clean all the come off.

The worst part was, above all, that he was perfectly alright with it, whereas the last guy that had come on his face had gotten a swift punch in the gut for it. But Ronan Lynch was a goddamn exception, as ever. Kavinsky threw the now soiled shirt toward the oversized television.

[thedreamthief]

For all his bitching, Ronan knows Kavinsky can't possibly have minded that much. If he did, he'd have made good on his promise by now and Ronan would be doubled over with a new bruise to his stomach. But probably still laughing.

He watches as Kavinsky wipes the come off his face, lets his gaze wander down the expanse of Kavinsky's chest and stomach, taking in the stretch of skin over bone and lean muscle. There's point in hiding it now, not that Kavinsky's ever tried himself.

And Kavinsky's always known more about Ronan than is comfortable.

"Looks like you've still got a problem there," he says, nodding downward, though he keeps his arms folded behind his head, his grin sated and lazy.

[mitsubishievo]

Kavinsky continued to grumble, looking for his beer. He looked up at the television screen where, as always in porn, the actors were going impossibly long, managing to look somewhere between bored and vaguely enjoying themselves and mildly discomfited. He could feel Ronan's eyes on him, and it sent heat burning through him.

"Yeah, and it looks like you're gonna be a lazy shit and make me do all the work again," Kavinsky muttered reproachfully.

He cut a glance over to Ronan--sated and satisfied, dick soft now and still hanging out of his underwear and pants, the smear of come that had been on his hand wiped across his stomach. Kavinsky wanted, he wanted to lick his stomach clean and climb onto his lap and kiss him stupidly, grind on his lap, see if he could suck him hard again.

He was too affronted, at the moment, to award Ronan the privilege. He slumped back against the couch, peeling out of his jeans--kicking Ronan a little just because he could--until he was down to his trunks, cock straining the front of them. He palmed himself vaguely, focused on the porn like it was more interesting than Ronan's lean body.

[thedreamthief]

Ronan doesn't miss the way Kavinsky's gaze lingers on him, on the smear across his belly and the stretch of bare skin from neck to dick. He stretches under it, a smug sort of challenge before Kavinsky drops onto the couch beside him and squirms out of his jeans.

Lips still twisted in a smirk, Ronan glances over at Kavinsky, watches as Kavinsky deliberately keeps his eyes on the TV screen as he strips down to his boxers, the front of them stretched across his obvious erection. They're fucking now, the two men in the video, one on his back with his legs held high as the other pounds into him, their moans overlapping the slap of skin on skin even if they both look vaguely bored.

Despite himself, Ronan finds his eyes lingering on the bulge of Kavinsky's shorts and the long fingers curled over it. He wonders if Adam would ever do this in front of him, stretch out in only his underwear and get himself off to a shitty porno while Ronan watched.

He shifts against the couch, tugging his boxer-briefs back up before kicking out of his jeans. He knocks his knee against Kavinsky's as he reaches over, threading his fingers into Kavinsky's hair again, more playful than gentle as he tugs.

[mitsubishievo]

It was not a particularly fruitful way of distracting from Ronan, looking at the television screen, because neither of the actors were anything that Kavinsky would consider fucking in a million years. He should have gone for Schoolboy Fantasies, or even that stupid gangbang flick with the Parrish look alike, because even someone wearing Adam Parrish's face would be better than this, an easier focus than Ronan's sudden confident fluidity in the wake of his orgasm.

He palmed himself through his shorts, breathing shallowly through his nose, spreading his legs and letting his eyes sink half shut. Ronan sliding over and burying his hand in his hair again did nothing to help the situation. His cock twitched under his hand and he heaved a sigh through his teeth.

"Find something you like?" His voice was still a little thick and hoarse, and he made no move to clear it out. He licked his lips, shifting his hand inside his shorts.

[thedreamthief]

"Not sure about like," Ronan replies, still grinning faintly as he gives Kavinsky's hair another tug and then moves his hand downward to settle on Kavinsky's nape.

He feels powerful like this, confident now in Kavinsky's blatant desire for him. Back in Henrietta it'd felt different, the constant wondering and the push-and-pull. But Kavinsky's now had Ronan's dick in his mouth - it doesn't get much more obvious than that.

He wonder if this is how Adam felt when he found out about Ronan.

The idea makes his stomach twist uncomfortably and he tries to force Adam out of his mind. Whatever he feels doesn't matter anymore, it never did. Adam's home where he has a life and a future and choices and Ronan is stuck here. He still has Gansey, at least. And Noah.

And Kavinsky.

Keeping one hand on Kavinsky's neck, Ronan reaches across to settle the other right on top of him, warm over the cotton of his shorts. It's impossible to feel anything in any real detail, Kavinsky's hand largely in the way, but he hooks his thumb into Kavinsky's waistband and pulls down enough to see the purpled tip in the circle of Kavinsky's grip.

[mitsubishievo]

Kavinsky leaned his head back as Ronan let go of his hair, resting his head against Ronan's hand on the back of his neck. It was a power gesture, one he'd never enjoyed particularly, but this was a moment, a spot in time, that he locked in place. He was trying, scrambling, for his control back, scratching for purchase as everything was slipping away from him. This wasn't.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Somehow it was better and worse than anything he had ever imagined, a glorious disaster, and Kavinsky wanted to pitch a fit and he wanted to shove Ronan's face into his lap, and he wished Ronan was still hard and he could roll over for him. A glorious disaster.

He used his hand, under his shorts, to push them down a little more when Ronan nudged them down a bit. He was not as large as Ronan was, nor as thick, more generally average overall, and his hand moved languidly.

"You gonna do me a solid too? Or are you feeling too smug for that right now?"

[thedreamthief]

It's not like Kavinsky is begging, but the comment still sends a warmth down Ronan's spine. He keeps quiet, eyes lowered to watch as more of Kavinsky's cock is revealed, a hunger building deep in his belly that's not wholly unlike the almost constant hunger to destroy something.

"You think I owe you?" he says, the fabric pushed aside enough now for Ronan to wrap his hand over Kavinsky's. The angle is awkward so Ronan shifts to let go of Kavinsky's neck, instead draping his arm over him entirely, crowding in close so they're pressed together from shoulder to knee. Ronan can feel Kavinsky's every inhale against his own ribs.

He knows the answer to that question already. Strangely, maybe, it seems fair. He's spent the past several hours mining into his own dreams, pulling out one fantastic thing after another, getting better at the details every time.

So fuck it, he can give Kavinsky a handjob. At least he knows Kavinsky actually wants it.

Turning his head, he lets his lips brush the curve of Kavinsky's ear, his fingers insistent as the push beneath Kavinsky's to wrap around solid, warm flesh. Whispers, "Does that make you the whore or me?"

[mitsubishievo]

Kavinsky closed his eyes, and imagined them, flip flopped, like he had a thousand times in his dreams--Ronan morosely uncomfortable and perhaps a little hesitant, and he, the starkly confident one, draped and murmuring and touching his cock with overly familiar fingers. But those dreams, too, always ended as reality just had: Kavinsky with lips wrapped tight around a heavy cock and dick twitching with anguish.

He wrapped his free arm around Ronan's waist, companionable, holding him close. If they were doing this, he wasn't going to let Ronan worm out of it at some point. They were in the weeds now, in the thick of things. Whether or not Kavinsky had just sucked him off, Kavinsky had been holding his hand through the hours of patient tutelage, and it was Ronan's turn to offer a helping hand.

Ronan's voice was a pin prick, sharp and clarifying, for a moment. Kavinsky's cock twitched against his palm as they exchanged hands. He tipped his head back against the couch and laughed, breathless. "Whore's gotta get paid, Lynch."

[thedreamthief]

"Exchange of goods and services," Ronan replies, lips twisted in a grin as they brush the shell of Kavinsky's ear. He tightens his grip when Kavinsky lets go, fingers encircling fully, squeezing the foreskin gently up over the tip before smoothing back down, and repeating. Kavinsky's cock isn't quite as big has his own, isn't as perfect or pretty as Adam's, but--

No. Fuck. No more thinking about Adam.

Growling, Ronan closes his eyes and presses his forehead hard against Kavinsky's temple as he picks up the pace of his hand. "This what you were hoping for when you dreamed up the fucking bracelets?" he asks, his voice low and almost mocking. "Were you trying to get my attention, man? You hoping I'd fall to my knees and beg for your dick just for a few shitty forgeries?"

[mitsubishievo]

The smugness didn't suit Ronan, and Kavinsky had an awful, terrible moment where he worried that he had dreamt up a Ronan, that he had made a forgery, and it was this--that, like Prokopenko, it had come out almost-but-not-quite how it should have; instead of replacing bigotry for blind obedience, he had replaced cynical passion for domineering pride.

Ronan's hand on his cock made Kavinsky's hips jump a little. He arched into the contact of it, imagining a world where Ronan were even capable of begging. That wasn't what he'd wanted at all.

He leaned his temple against Ronan's forehead. Lies were an easy sort of thing, protective and insulating, because they were not truths. Ronan Lynch liked to say he wasn't a liar, and that was the biggest lie of all, but Kavinsky even said he wasn't a liar; people assumed he was, and he let the assumption stand. Really, he just avoided the truth when the truth was a barby, thorny thing that liked to bite him.

"If I wanted you begging on your knees," he said, cagey, thick with desire because he had a hand on his cock and too many emotions to handle right now and he was going to hit Ronan, if he kept talking, "don't you think you would be?"

[thedreamthief]

"You might have tried," Ronan says, leaning in closer to sink his teeth onto Kavinsky's earlobe as his thumb slides over the wet, sensitive skin of Kavinsky's tip. It's a purely teasing touch, circling and lingering over the slit before tapping lightly and then sliding away.

Kavinsky has an arm around his waist, holding him in closer and Ronan, despite himself, can feel his body reacting to the heat of another body and the weight of a dick in his hand. He breathes out hot against Kavinsky's ear and tries to fight the heat coiling through him, tries to override it with the irritation and anger and fucking grief that's been simmering all fucking day.

"I'm not what you want me to be," he says, his voice lower and darker as he speeds up the pace of his hand, not giving a shit if it's harder than Kavinsky likes it. Hell, it's probably not hard enough. "I'm never gonna be what you want me to be."

[mitsubishievo]

Kavinsky hissed a little at the teasing touch. He let Ronan whisper at him, let him breathe on his skin. He could feel Ronan's rushing breath and could almost feel the stutter of his heartbeat, real, concrete and real, behind two sets of ribcages.

He turned his head, mouth almost touching Ronan's. Ronan's eyes were dark and sharp, but Kavinsky knew him, knew the secrets in his head, knew what it felt like to hold onto all those secrets and try to not let them slip away like water. Their noses brushed. He breathed, like life, against Ronan's mouth. His arm tightened around Ronan's waist.

"Who says you're not?" He rocked up into Ronan's jerking hand and brought his other hand to grasp the side of Ronan's face, to hold him. Their mouths were so close together, and he grinned, a complete disaster. "He never would have wanted all of this."

[thedreamthief]

The words are sharp as a knife and stab right through Ronan's ribcage, the truth a serrated edge. It cuts the breath from his lungs, slices sinew and bone to obliterate the meat beneath.

"Fuck you," Ronan snarls, fighting the pain of his shredded insides, funneling it all into the grip of his hand as he ducks into Kavinsky's neck and bites down. It's not a love bite, not tender in the fucking least. He wants to rip a chunk of Kavinsky's skin off, wants to fucking pummel him, wants to destroy.

His breath is ragged, labored as he pulls his hand away from Kavinsky's cock to grab his face instead, fingers digging into the skin of his jaw and cheek as he shifts to straddle Kavinsky, eyes wild as he holds him down. He wraps one hand around Kavinsky's neck, fingers digging into the mark he's left there with his teeth. "You say one more fucking word about him and I'll kill you right now."

[mitsubishievo]

Kavinsky managed to laugh, or at least a breathless noise that might have tried to be a laugh, somewhere in his concave ribcage, as Ronan went for his throat like the dog he was. He squirmed and fought underneath him, arm still imperiously wrapped around Ronan's waist like he could draw him in, like he had an ounce of control in this mad situation that had, at some point, spiraled wildly out of his control.

Even with Ronan's fingers pressed into all the worst possible places, Kavinsky grinned up at him. He licked his lips and dug his fingers into Ronan's side, still and almost placid as Ronan held him down except for his urgent, fluttering pulse and his jagged breathing and the twitch of his cock.

He grinned at Ronan. He tilted his head back and pressed his neck up into Ronan's hand.

"Go on, then, big boy. He's not here to see you get your hands dirty. Maybe you can dream me up better."

He grinned, sharp and feral, face a challenge but eyes deep and hollow and exhausted, like when Ronan came in at first. Not startled, like when Ronan first lunged for him. But even with the arousal and all the dreaming and drugs and alcohol still making them, the exhaustion had slipped back in so that the challenging smile did not meet his eyes.

[thedreamthief]

It's not like Ronan to not make good on his promises and the temptation to squeeze until Kavinsky's gasping and choking, eyes bugged wide, is overwhelming. He could do it, he knows. Kavinsky can dream better than him, can manipulate, but Ronan has size, muscle, and positioning on his side. He could snap Kavinsky's neck or rip out his tongue.

Instead he throws a punch.

It's more satisfying, the blossom of pain across his knuckles, the drop of blood that falls from Kavinsky's nose. Snarling, Ronan glares down at him. "Why the fuck would I ever want to dream you? You think I care if anyone knows I killed you? "

Because Ronan could do it. He could kill Kavinsky right now and turn himself in. He'd be locked up for life, thrown into just another prison inside a prison. And no one would give a damn.

[mitsubishievo]

There was a moment, one hysterical moment, where Ronan's hand tightened on Kavinsky's throat, and Kavinsky thought, this is it. He shut his eyes in some blissful anticipation, heart pounding up against his chest and--

He swore, powerful and prophetic, in Bulgarian, as Ronan slammed his fist into his nose. He moved his arms swiftly, windmilling them, so he could press his hands to Ronan's chest and shove him off him and onto the floor. He rocketed to his feet while he did it, anger and resentment compensating for Ronan's slightly superior weight.

For a moment, he stood there, blood on his face, cock only half flagged. He swore again and yanked his shorts up, stepping away from the couch.

[thedreamthief]

Ronan almost laughs as Kavinsky shoves him away, blood singing at the force of Kavinsky's anger. He drops onto the floor ungracefully, grinning wild and rabid as he pushes himself up to his feet slowly, hiking his shorts up as he eyes Kavinsky.

"Thought you'd like it rough," he says, gaze dropping briefly to Kavinsky's flagging erection a second before Kavinsky pulls his shorts up to hide it. "Just trying to make it good for you, baby."

He's taunting now, fingers itching to claw, punch, pummel. He wants Kavinsky angry, wants to feed on it, wants to set this entire town on fire and burn in the middle of it. He and Kavinsky can be the kindling, Cabeswater the fuel. They could do it, he knows. It wouldn't even be hard.

[mitsubishievo]

Kavinsky turned off the movie on the television, in the midst of the smaller guy taking a facial too reminiscent of the one Kavinsky had just received. He seethed quietly for a moment, willing his cock back down and into submission, and, when it disagreed with him, just gave up and stomped back over to the couch to grab his jeans.

He stood behind Ronan for a moment, heat in his veins, jeans clenched in his fist. It would be easy to pick up one of the bottles from the floor, one of the full ones, and bash Ronan over the head. They didn't shatter like they did in the movies. It would be easy to wrap the leg of his jeans around his throat and pull, keep it tight until his eyes fluttered. It would be easy--

He leaned down, fingers pressed to Ronan's scalp. For a moment, his hands were claws. For a moment, he imagined himself as one of Kavinsky's black, black nighthorrors--claws and beak and all. His lips were against Ronan's ear.

"Gimme a little warning next time, at least," he murmured. "It's like trying to do anal dry, Lynch. Not even I like that."

[thedreamthief]

"A warning before I punch you in the face?" Ronan says, scowling as he ducks his head and turns to swat Kavinsky's hand away. "And ruin the surprise? Fuck that."

He makes no remark on the rest of Kavinsky's words, not letting himself think about just how much experience Kavinsky has with that particular act, whether Kavinsky prefers to top or bottom.

Instead, he steps away, quickly buttoning up his jeans before grabbing another bottle from the floor. He uses the lip of a nearby table to pry off the lid and takes a deep swig before walking through the mess of dream objects to hunt out a shirt.

[mitsubishievo]

Kavinsky pulled on his pants and crashed onto the couch. He was still fucking hard, though only half there, and but the want to get off had ebbed out of him now that Ronan had made it clear they were neither going to fuck nor fight in earnest.

He watched Ronan's back across the room, the muscle and the bone under his skin, and the dark ink tattoo across his shoulders and back in an intricate mess of lines and shapes. One minute, a celtic knot; the next minute, a mess of ravens; then, a clutch of thorns. He looked away and at the disarray of dream things.

"You sticking around, then?" The words stuck to the roof of his mouth for no discernible reason, like a hundred times he'd argued with Prokopenko before the event horizon had changed everything, and then there was no need to ask if Prokopenko was sticking around, but more if he was leaving.