[Ronan wasn't like the other boys at Aglionby, never had been, never would be. Kavinsky liked that about him. Even if he didn't become sharp and poisonous, he'd always be a dreamer, and that alone made him special. The kind of special that Kavinsky couldn't ignore.
Then Ronan was in his lap and he let his arm drop away from his shoulders, his hand slip away from his face, to rest on his thighs instead. His fingers crept up to his hips, and Kavinsky pulled him closer before pushing his hands under his shirt, palms pressing against his back. It was like the start of every good dream he'd ever had about Ronan, filling him with fire. Ronan nipped at his mouth and a shiver rolled down Kavinsky's spine, nails dragging gently against the other boy's back.
Things felt like they were moving fast, but not because Kavinsky was one to take things slow; he'd gotten the impression that Ronan was. Maybe he'd underestimated him before, maybe there'd been more of a desire and attraction that he'd hidden from him. But why? What had made Kavinsky not good enough before? It wasn't the first time he'd wondered that. Had he not been upstanding enough? Not charming enough?
He silenced his own thoughts by kissing Ronan again, all need and desire. He was trying not to overwhelm him, to take the kiss slow, but it was hard when he wanted so much. He wasn't used to holding back; whatever he wanted, he took. Steadily, bit by bit, his self-control was slipping. Ronan made it easy to give in.]
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[Ronan wasn't like the other boys at Aglionby, never had been, never would be. Kavinsky liked that about him. Even if he didn't become sharp and poisonous, he'd always be a dreamer, and that alone made him special. The kind of special that Kavinsky couldn't ignore.
Then Ronan was in his lap and he let his arm drop away from his shoulders, his hand slip away from his face, to rest on his thighs instead. His fingers crept up to his hips, and Kavinsky pulled him closer before pushing his hands under his shirt, palms pressing against his back. It was like the start of every good dream he'd ever had about Ronan, filling him with fire. Ronan nipped at his mouth and a shiver rolled down Kavinsky's spine, nails dragging gently against the other boy's back.
Things felt like they were moving fast, but not because Kavinsky was one to take things slow; he'd gotten the impression that Ronan was. Maybe he'd underestimated him before, maybe there'd been more of a desire and attraction that he'd hidden from him. But why? What had made Kavinsky not good enough before? It wasn't the first time he'd wondered that. Had he not been upstanding enough? Not charming enough?
He silenced his own thoughts by kissing Ronan again, all need and desire. He was trying not to overwhelm him, to take the kiss slow, but it was hard when he wanted so much. He wasn't used to holding back; whatever he wanted, he took. Steadily, bit by bit, his self-control was slipping. Ronan made it easy to give in.]