[He half expected Ronan to say no, just because Kavinsky never seemed to luck out with him, but things were different. He had to keep reminding himself of that, as if it wasn't obvious. But Ronan said yes and Kavinsky felt powerful. He smiled, something genuine just for the other dreamer.
Reaching out with his other hand, he cupped the side of Ronan's face, fingers brushing over his skin, and leaned in to kiss him. He was gentle but confident, letting it linger, committing the moment to memory before he pulled back just a little. Then he kissed him again, more firmly, but with care. He felt like he was burning, like he was nearly high.
He was more than a little tempted to climb into Ronan's lap, but--there were so many buts about this and he didn't like it--he didn't want to overwhelm him. If he was the same Ronan from the Fourth of July, Kavinsky would throw caution to the wind and say fuck it, but (again) he wasn't.
Finally, he pulled back again, leaning his head against Ronan's, eyes still closed. He wanted to kiss him again, kiss him until his mouth was sore. Maybe he would.]
I've wanted to do that for months.
[Ever since he'd realized he didn't actually hate Ronan for beating him when they raced, around the time he'd discovered he was a dreamer, too. His attraction had grown over the weeks and now it was a fire waiting to happen, waiting for something--like a kiss--to push it over the edge.]
no subject
Reaching out with his other hand, he cupped the side of Ronan's face, fingers brushing over his skin, and leaned in to kiss him. He was gentle but confident, letting it linger, committing the moment to memory before he pulled back just a little. Then he kissed him again, more firmly, but with care. He felt like he was burning, like he was nearly high.
He was more than a little tempted to climb into Ronan's lap, but--there were so many buts about this and he didn't like it--he didn't want to overwhelm him. If he was the same Ronan from the Fourth of July, Kavinsky would throw caution to the wind and say fuck it, but (again) he wasn't.
Finally, he pulled back again, leaning his head against Ronan's, eyes still closed. He wanted to kiss him again, kiss him until his mouth was sore. Maybe he would.]
I've wanted to do that for months.
[Ever since he'd realized he didn't actually hate Ronan for beating him when they raced, around the time he'd discovered he was a dreamer, too. His attraction had grown over the weeks and now it was a fire waiting to happen, waiting for something--like a kiss--to push it over the edge.]