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revivalprojectooc2021-06-13 03:25 pm
trpmods) wrote in revivalprojectooc2021-06-13 03:25 pm
Entry tags:
Summer Test Drive Meme
SUMMER TEST DRIVE MEME
Application FAQ | Taken Characters | Reserves | Application
Welcome to the Current Test Drive for The Revival Project!
This game is a spin-off from the closed The Drift Fleet game. For more information about the game, including more details on the setting, please check out the FAQ here or the premise here.
A thread on the TDM will be required for all applications. Please view the FAQ for information about how this works. Any questions about the game please direct to the comment section of the FAQ as well.
If you are a Drift Fleet alumni bringing your character from the game, please label your character as 'DFAU' on your top level. Also, keep in mind you have complete flexibility on how your character comes here. They could be taken before endgame, after endgame, two years after, one year before, etc. It's up to you! If you want to completely restart your character, they're not considered DFAU anymore and won't need the label.
So go! Explore Agra 10! And, as always, HAVE FUN!
Thread ideas:
Hot Summer Time!
If hunting for food isn't what you came here for, then sunbathing is always an option. Even if the color seems odd, this sand, also, likes to go literally everywhere.
Simply hopping into the water is also rarely a bad idea. This close to the coast there are no harmful creatures in the water, so whether you brought a swim suit, hop in fully clothed or have no care in the world about who might stumble over you naked, Agra 10's ocean is yours to play in.
Explore the city!
Most of the buildings are run down and have clearly been abandoned for years; fortunately, the water treatment center appears to be working, but power is intermittent and unreliable. What used to be stores or places to live in lies in ruins, but there may still be something to scavenge among the rubble. Do you want to risk a swim in the flooded area that has turned into a deep lake that has yet to be fully explored; or does it draw you to some of the more prominent and partially restored buildings, such as the hotel, the hospital or the amphitheater.
If you are lucky, you might even stumble over The Deep End, the bar located on one of the mid-levels of the tower residences in one of the residence towers. Unfortunately no bright neon signs can lead you there, but it does exist.
Visit the spaceships!
Maybe look around anyway. Or try your hand at some repairs?
Try the network!
There be storms...
Should you step inside the storm, or even get lost in it, it will show ghosts of people you know and those you don't. It drains you of any super-human abilities and tries its best to keep you from getting to its origin. Are you going to try anyways? Or are you going to chase the whispers of people from your past? Maybe you will simply find yourself calling for help or stumble across another lost soul in need of assistance.
More information can be found here.
Wildcard!
✧ Premise ✧ FAQ ✧ Rules ✧ Test Drive ✧ Taken ✧ Reserves ✧ Application ✧
✧ Map ✧ Devices & Network ✧ Data Points ✧ Ships ✧ Flora ✧ Fauna ✧ Supply Requests ✧ Calendar ✧
✧ Activity Check ✧ Player Plot Suggestion ✧ Player Contacts ✧ Player Permission Code ✧ Hiatus ✧ Drop ✧
✧ Navigation ✧
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Fuck.
[He agreed, turning to watch Ronan warily. The other boy hadn't immediately balked at what he'd said, hadn't laughed it off or told him off, and that was something. Kavinsky was a king; he bowed for no one and nothing, but. That didn't stop him from being a little uncertain.
His gaze flicked from Ronan's face to his hand, the briefest moment of hesitation before he reached out and took his hand, tugging him a little closer.]
What do you want?
[It was a simple question but he knew it wasn't necessarily an easy one. More than anything, he wanted the answer to be 'you'. He could give Ronan almost anything he wanted unless it was another person. He'd never had an actual relationship in his life, not something that was more than casual sex, but there could never be anything casual about him and Ronan, no matter how they fit together.]
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He steps in so that they're eye to eye, Kavinsky's palm against his own feels almost like a brand, but he doesn't let go. It's like the dream makes it feel more, makes it more real, or maybe it's just the result of having someone want him, having someone's hands on his skin and knowing they mean it. He flushes, tips his head to the side, awkward with uncertainty. K asks that question and Ronan flounders, doesn't know the answer.]
I don't know. I never know what I want. I just want... A world that doesn't suck. To not be alone. Something that feels real. I want- I want everything.
[He's greedy in a way he's never been able to say outloud. Ronan's never had an actual relationship himself, either. He hasn't even kissed anyone yet. But he doesn't want something casual, doesn't want it unless it's real, unless it makes him feel alive. Right now he feels like he's burning, and that's just as good. They've only really just met, so he can't quite bring himself to say that he wants him.
But he holds onto him, and the truth is that nothing about this feels casual.]
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He brushed his thumb across the back of Ronan's hand, slow and gentle. 'Gentle' and 'Kavinsky' didn't usually go together in the same sentence, but there was no one else to see them; they had the most privacy they were ever going to get.]
I could give you most of those things. I don't know about making the world not suck, but we could carve out a corner for ourselves, do whatever the fuck we want.
[He'd never been desperate for someone to want him, before. He'd always been content with people liking him if they did, and saying fuck you if they didn't. This was different. He knew he'd fucked up before, and who knew, he might fuck up again, but he had a chance here.
He took a breath, scrubbed his free hand through his hair.]
I've always been alone. All those parties and shit? They don't fill the void, but they're as close as I can get.
[And then he'd found out Ronan was like him, and his world had teetered. He'd thought he was the only one, but he wasn't and it was mindblowing, and- He wanted to press his face into Ronan's hair, but he didn't move.]
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I think I'd like that. Someplace just for us? Whatever we want. Because we want it.
[He'd never had someone offer to give him the world before. Ronan found that he rather liked the feeling. He didn't expect Kavinsky to be an easy boy to want, but then Ronan wasn't either. Mercurial, temperamental, but also softer than most people knew what to do with. He was a storm with skin, both warm smiles or flames at any moment.
For the moment here- it's both. Attraction feels like a fire he can't put out, but he can't help the sad way he smiles as Kavinsky talks: understanding. He just watches him, listens, and there's an ache. Because he understands, in his own way. He had his family, bound by blood and shared secrets, but he still felt alone even in the middle of all of it sometimes. It was a feeling he didn't really know how to explain, and even if he had, there was never anyone he could tell.
Except, there is now. He reaches up, presses his other hand to Kavinsky's chest, flexes his fingers against their joined hands in a soft caress. His hand against the fabric of his shirt, but it seems almost like he could feel his heartbeat, maybe.]
All I had was my family, but sometimes- after dreams the world wouldn't feel real, and everything felt grey and so meaningless I could scream.. it was so impossibly lonely. But we're not alone now, are we?
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When Ronan touched his chest, it felt like his heart tripped again. It wasn't like no one had ever touched him like this before; it was that it was the other boy specifically. He felt more than warm. He felt electric, both tender and amped up at the same time.]
And if someone doesn't like it, they can fuck off.
[He settled his free hand over Ronan's, firm but gentle, for the sake of touching him. As if they weren't already touching. Kavinsky was greedy; he wanted more. But he was also smart enough to pace himself. He'd take his cues from Ronan on what he was and wasn't comfortable with. At least until they had more of a rapport.]
At least you had that much. My dad called me a freak.
[Not anymore though. Kavinsky had carefully written out that part of his father. He couldn't be blamed for enhancing people a little, could he?]
Technically... [He smiled.] It's the two of us, but we're not alone.
I want to see the things you dream up. Fill the whole goddamn theater with them.
[Or wherever they decided to stay. It didn't matter to him. There didn't even have to be a 'we' in there; they could have separate spaces. He was getting ahead of himself.
He had the feeling Ronan could dream up some beautiful things. Maybe Kavinsky could even learn a thing or two from his creativity. He'd done the same old for so long; he'd never really branched into the surreal, like flowers too beautiful and too blue to exist.]
no subject
He thinks he understands it more, though. What Kavinsky had grown up with, lived through- survived.
The other boy's hand settles on top of Ronan's, and he shivers with the feeling of it, the warmth, the closeness, the idea of someone that understands not just who he is, but what he is. Maybe even in ways that Ronan himself doesn't. Someone that he can learn from.]
Well. Fuck him.
[There are nuances there in the tone of his voice, things he means but doesn't quite know how to say out loud. Things like you aren't and you deserved better. Not that the Lynches were perfect by any means, even if Ronan adored Niall too much to see his faults. He didn't yet have the insight to imagine how different things were for his brother. Ronan only saw the love his parents had for him, even if it wasn't always enough.]
The two of us. Together.
[And he smiles at him, fierce and heated and bright. He hadn't known how much he needed this until someone had offered it to him. He wanted more than secrets and the boxes the world wanted him to fit into. More than Aglionby and the talk of prestigious futures in politics and finance.]
I want you-- I want that too. To make it ours, fill it with all the dreams we want.
[He stumbles over the words, burning from standing too close or wanting too much, or just the sheer thought of all they could have. He couldn't quite have explained why it was the theater, but it seemed as good a place as any. A little like Monmouth, a little like home, a little like something new altogether. The feeling of being alone had gnawed at his insides, tipped him over into anger, all stormy temper. But with Kavinsky's hand in his, here in this dreamspace together it felt almost more like possibility. Ronan was still greedy, hasn't had it stolen by loss, where all his wants feel criminal.]
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[He agreed wholeheartedly, in fact. Nobody in his family was perfect--he didn't think anyone was, really--but his father'd had no love for him before Kavinsky had seen to it to change things. Even now it was debatable, but better than it had been. The point was, he hadn't come from love and he hardly knew how to love himself but he'd be damned if he let that stop him from trying to find things to fill the void with. Maybe he was selfish for the reasons he wanted Ronan, but no one had ever accused him of being a saint.
He knew there was more to that sentence than 'I want you', that it didn't just end there. He was still going to let himself have a moment to bask in how it sounded, though. In Henrietta, he'd had few places that were truly his, except the dreaming field. You'd think he'd be able to make his home his own space, somewhere safe for dreaming, but even that was difficult when his mom kept poking her nose into his shit. She didn't understand the things he came up with. Ronan would. He'd accept a dream object, no matter how mundane or fantastical.
Once upon a time, he might have ribbed Ronan for the things he'd dreamed, but they'd both been showing off. Kavinsky hadn't wanted to come across as easily impressed, especially not when the goal had been to dream an entire car and Ronan had started with a pen. Ronan was safe to dream whatever he wanted, was the point. If you weren't safe around another dreamer, when were you safe?]
The two of us, kings. [Unstoppable. Powerful.
But also-]
So, does this mean you want to live together, here?
[He was trying not to smile, but he wasn't really succeeding.]
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Kavinsky has given him vulnerability. They're standing in a dream, holding hands with intention, Ronan's hand pressed against his chest, the other boy's fingers covering his own. He sort of wanted to press those long fingers to his lips, to see if he could taste the ashes. Intimacy wasn't something he could avoid, or even something he wanted to, if he was honest. But it's still difficult, not something he knows how to give easily.
So it takes him a few moments- heartbeats longer than it should, he knows- but he eases, smiles like an apology for the hesitation. The way that the other boy tries not to smile but can't quite manage it tugs at his heart in ways he couldn't quite explain and isn't quite sure that he wants to try. Answering that question is hard enough for the moment.]
Yeah. I want you to stay here with me.
[He shivered, tried not to let on that it meant as much as it did. But if it didn't mean anything the answer would have been easy, and it isn't. His heart feels rabbit-fast, like the other boy should be able to feel it with how close they're standing. He's not the sort of boy to make it conditional, to phrase it around things like if you want to. It's just want, and there's more he wants, but he's still working on figuring out the shape of it.
This is all new territory, but Ronan is at least capable of trying, of saying it. He wants to, even if he knows neither of them are easy. There's no way the two of them together will be easy. But Ronan's never been attracted to the easy things. And the way he feels- alive, on fire- new as this is, it still feels worth it.]
Two kings, right?
no subject
He stopped trying to hide his smile when Ronan finally answered, nodding slowly.]
Cool.
[It was so much more than that, though. It meant more to him than he was comfortable putting into words right now, but the feelings were still there. If he was a romantic, or used to being more open than he was, he'd say that Ronan was making his dreams come true. He kept it to himself, instead.]
Bet you'll be a better roommate than Prokopenko.
[Even after Kavinsky had dreamed him back to life and ah, tweaked his personality a little. He didn't know if there was a single thing he'd change about Ronan. Kavinsky liked him just the way he was, even if he got on his nerves sometimes. That was part of the appeal, honestly, having someone who didn't always mindlessly agree with him. Ronan was a handful, but so were the other boys Kavinsky had taken under his wing.]
Two kings, yeah. We'll make our home a castle.
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Of course with Ronan, his emotions were hardly subtle; he's easy to read from the tilt of his head to the set of his shoulders. He's still expressive, even when that didn't mean smashing his fist into a wall all the time. His blue eyes are bright, his smile easy as his thumb slides against the other boy's hand, touching just because he can, because Kavinsky hasn't let go.
He laughs soft and amused when the other boy declares him a better roommate than Prokopenko. This was entirely new territory; he'd yet to have the experience of being someone's roommate yet. He had a feeling it was going to be different than living with his brothers. But he still wanted it. The idea of having another dreamer to help him work through the ability he'd been struggling with since he was small.]
Yeah, exactly. Dream it into whatever we want. Maybe start with a bed though, so we're not dreaming in those shitty chairs.
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Just one bed? [He teased.] For the both of us? That's awfully forward of you, Lynch.
[He didn't think Ronan had meant it like that. He probably hadn't even thought of it. But Kavinsky, being who he was, immediately did. He also didn't really think it was forward at all. He'd said plenty of more scandalous things to people he barely knew, himself. Who would he be if he let this moment pass them by without at least the chance to see if he could make Ronan blush?]
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I didn't- I just meant--
[Ronan flusters, doesn't even really finish his sentence when he tries to deflect the accusation, trails off into a muttered curse. In part because now he's thinking about it. Not even necessarily sexually, but the thought of being close like that still makes him burn in a way he doesn't want to admit to.
Ronan glares at him, but it's without intent. He's not actually upset, just embarrassed.]
God, you're such a jerk.
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I know. Also, I never said I'd mind sharing a bed. I don't snore.
[But he was leaving this up to Ronan; whatever made him comfortable. He wasn't about to wreck their budding friendship and push the other boy away. He'd gotten his 'yes'; he could live with just that for a while.
If he was being completely honest, Kavinsky preferred sharing a bed over sleeping alone, if only because it made him feel less lonely. He was also, he'd been told, at his most tolerable when he was asleep or mostly asleep, not counting dreaming. Part of him had wanted to take that as an insult, but he'd let it roll off his back like it was nothing. Maybe it would also be healthy for them to have separate sleeping spaces, different beds.]
no subject
I guess I wouldn't mind, either. Since you don't snore. Might be easier while we're getting things settled, at any rate.
[He aims for casual, like the idea of it doesn't run a thrill through him. But while Ronan had his own bedroom back at the Barns, of course, the idea of being close like that tempts the part of him that leans toward codependence. Before he'd found him, when he thought he was entirely on his own, he'd been so lonely, the feeling tipping over into that choked, helpless anger. His knuckles still a bit scuffed because punching a brick wall had seemed like the best outlet he had.
He likes the idea of being close. But admitting to it, expressing that sort of vulnerability still feels like exposing too much of himself. But then Kavinsky has seen more of that side of him than Ronan's even aware of, yet. He lets his fingers slide up against the other teen's shoulder for a moment, before falling away, but he still holds his hand.]
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['Terrible' was Kavinsky's middle name. But Ronan was surprisingly a balm, soothing the worst of Kavinsky's urges. It'd been easier, before, to be terrible to him knowing he had nothing to lose. Maybe that was why he'd lost everything in the end.]
Might be. [He agreed.
Of course, there was nothing stopping them from dreaming beds if they couldn't find any, though Kavinsky would have been content with a mattress on the floor. Anything that he shared with Ronan would be just fine. He might have lived in a mansion before but it wasn't the mansion that had spoiled him. It was the dreaming.]
Are you ready to wake up?
[They had their work cut out for them, but he was sure they could handle whatever they needed to. Not just because they were dreamers, but because he knew Ronan was just as stubborn and determined as he was. Neither of them were quitters and spoiled or not, Kavinsky wasn't afraid of a little hard work. They could handle fixing up the theater and getting Ronan's dreams under control.]
no subject
[He smiles, a little bit impish as he asks the question, although it's rhetorical more than anything. Something just a touch wicked as he looks at the other boy. He likes this, the idea of being together in this. Feeling like he wasn't alone, that they could be close, that maybe he could hold his hand when they woke up, too. How Ronan would handle the fact that he wanted this feeling to be more than dreams was anyone's guess, mercurial creature that he was.
One way or another they'd make this work, he was sure. A space that they could make their own, shape it to what they wanted. Much like Kavinsky, Ronan had grown up in a certain sort of luxury, but it was the dreams- the dreaming- that ruined him for the rest of the world.]
Yeah. I guess we can't stay here forever.
[He leans in, takes a breath, one last slide of his fingers against the other boy's hand. He thinks of the leather bracelets on his wrist, the weight of them like a memory. In truth the idea of waking without them would be stranger, but he wanted to do this right. No mistakes, nothing else but the leather bands. He knows what he wants, at least in this moment, and he hopes that's enough.
Dreaming like this is a balancing act; awake enough to know he's dreaming, but not so awake that it pulls him out of the dream. It doesn't take too much effort to cross the distance, pulling himself back into reality. Even if part of him still wants to stay.
Leather bands on his wrist as perfect as a memory. No horrors or molotovs. There were a few errant blue petals on the back of his hand. Not perfect, but for the first time he'd brought back something because he wanted it and that felt like magic.]
no subject
Sometimes, he debated spending forever in a dream. Dreaming was always better than the real world. There was a reason he was always partying, frequently high, trying to chase the feeling of dreams, to recapture the feeling. Sometimes he succeeded. More often than not, he didn't. But maybe things would be different with another dreamer around, really around.
He thought, for the briefest moment, of arguing for staying longer, but they'd been asleep long enough and he felt safe but not entirely. Anything could happen to them in this strange place while they slept. So he said nothing, nodding instead.
When he opened his eyes, his sunglasses were tucked neatly on the front of his shirt, just like in the dream. He always seemed to shake the dream paralysis faster than Ronan did, and after a few moments, he tried to work the kink out of his neck before looking over, looking him up and down, spotting both the petals and the leather bracelets. Reaching over, he plucked one of the petals from Ronan's hand.]
Good job.
no subject
Kavinsky is awake and moving faster than Ronan is. He's stuck outside of himself for moments, watching the other boy and those white sunglasses clipped to his shirt, the same as in the dream. He watches how he moves, the way he plucks one of the petals from his hand. He comes back to himself and sits up, rolling his shoulders and curling fingers lightly around the leather bracelets.
They feel the same.
He can't help grinning, bright and wild- his father's smile, eyes that sparkled like a secret or a promise. He preens a little under the praise, a slight flush to his face. His voice quiet when he speaks, watching him, like he knows him better than he did before he closed his eyes.]
Thank you.
[And he means it. He doesn't think he could have done it without Kavinsky telling him that he could, telling him how, giving him a space for it that was different from his own. Keeping the dream safe when Ronan's thoughts leaned to claws and horrors.]
no subject
Smiling, he cupped the side of Ronan's face in his hand for a brief moment before sliding his hand around to the back of his neck, giving him a friendly squeeze.]
You can do whatever you put your mind to.
[Even if he needed a little help with it sometimes. There was nothing wrong with that. Some people thought asking for help was a weakness, but sometimes you just couldn't do something on your own. Everyone learned from somewhere.
Looking back down at the petal, he sniffed it, looked up again. He held Ronan's gaze and put the petal on his own tongue. Never mind that a second ago he'd been about to say something about how they should save those petals and now he was eating one, but. It was from Ronan's head and so it was like a piece of him. It wasn't much different than taking the dream pills as far as eating dreams went, but there was something that felt different about this.]
no subject
Every time Kavinsky touches him he feels like it sets him on fire, makes him feel starved for the contact, the affection, like he needs more. He tilts into the contact as his fingers cup against the younger teen's face, pale skin flushed, a low hum of breath ad the other boy's fingers curl against the back of his neck. A light squeeze and Ronan lets himself lean in toward him just a little.
The only part that makes how easily Kavinsky affects him tolerable, is that he's pretty sure he does it on purpose, and that makes it feel a little bit more like something shared. Like an unspoken agreement, something he wanted to offer but needed Kavinsky to pull it from him until he burned. And Ronan can handle it, he thinks, even if the other boy is gorgeous and gets under his skin like an addiction he hadn't realized he had.
He smiles, thinks things will settle even if half of his focus is still on the points on his neck where it feels like Kavinsky's fingertips linger like a brand.
And then he holds his gaze, blue eyes on his darker ones, and he watches as he puts one of Ronan's dreamt flower petals on his tongue. He can't think past that fact, his breath catching helpless as he watches, his pupils blown. It should have been something to laugh off, like the way girls at Nino's giggled about indirect kisses or something. He couldn't have explained why it was worse than the pills, but it was. He couldn't have looked away if he'd wanted to, and there was not any part of him that would have been willing to try.
The thought was on loop like the only thing that mattered: that one of his dreams was on his tongue.
Ronan felt impossibly like Kavinsky was going to devour him instead. He felt like he was dying, he felt more alive than he ever had in his life. He feels exposed, doesn't have the poison or the apathy to be anything but completely ruined and obvious. He wants the other teen's fingers on his lips, wants to feel-- something. He just wants him, like it's the only thing that matters.]
no subject
He still leaned in a little, smirking, dark eyes bright. He brushed his fingers through Ronan's hair, slow and gentle, before sliding his arm around his shoulders, casually, though it was really anything but. His skin prickled everywhere they were in contact, heat flooding through him. Touching Ronan felt charged, no matter how simple and non-sexual it was. It felt like more.
He wanted to do so much to Ronan, to take him, to ruin him for anyone else, to be the best damn thing in his life, to dream impossible things with him. The two of them together felt like magic, like a high as good as the chemical ones, like he was invincible. He wanted Ronan wrapped around his finger, but not to use him or hurt him. He just wanted his loyalty, complete and unwavering. He knew loyalty took time, but he'd done it before; he had the patience to do it again.
Tucking the petal against the inside of his cheek, he said-]
Do you want me to kiss you?
[Not 'can I kiss you' because Kavinsky didn't ask permission for shit, but did Ronan want it. He looked like he did, but Kavinsky didn't want to fuck up. Been there, done that. Anyone else, he wouldn't have cared; other people came and went, they were a dime a dozen, but not Ronan. He was special.]
no subject
He never knows what he wants, but right now, he does. He wants him, he wants the way his fingers press against his skin and thread through his hair. Kavinsky's arm curls around his shoulder and Ronan presses into the contact, trembling. He's not sure he'd ever wanted anything like this, almost light-headed as he leans into him. His fingers pressing to his chest, curling into the fabric of his shirt as he nods in answer to the question. It takes him a half-second to make his voice work, but when he does it's soft and genuine and honest.]
Yes, I- I want you to.
[A little bit breathless, the way he says it almost like please, almost needy. He's never kissed anyone, never had anyone he wanted to kiss in a way that was desperate and pointed like this, not just theoretical but wanting to kiss him, this person. He looks up at him, blue eyes dark with desire and unguarded, eager and hopeful as his fingers tracing against his chest. Just to touch, just to feel him, his pulse rabbit-fast and he can feel it.]
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.]
no subject
Ronan is inexperienced, but he's all passion, desire that catches like a fire. His fingers curled in Kavinsky's shirt tugging just a little because he wants to be closer, wants more. He's greedy, but without the walls and defenses, doesn't care if the other boy can tell how affected he is. If they had kissed when he was older, it probably would have been a different sort of fight or a competition, and this isn't either of those things.
He gasps, murmurs against his mouth, already feels a little bit wrecked. He's almost starry-eyed as they lean in together and breathe, flushed and it feels like he's high, like when he takes something from his dreams and it turns down the volume on everything else. This was all he could focus on.
His skin still felt hot as embers, and he lets his other hand curl against the side of his neck just to touch skin. His breath rough and uneven, and he smiles. Lingers not long enough to catch his breath, but enough to remember that he should.]
Really? I didn't think you noticed me that far back.
[Ronan had noticed Kavinsky, but that wasn't remarkable- everyone did. It had been the car that caught his attention first, though: not expensive enough to be a status symbol, designed to draw attention in a way that had nothing to do with restoration and detail kits. It was as subtle as an open wound and it had racer written all over it. Ronan didn't race yet, not for real: not with a learner's permit and his father's car. But the knowledge still made every time he saw it feel like adrenaline.
The younger teen is a creature of impulse, even if it spells itself out differently now. So Kavinsky might have the caution to not try climbing into his lap, but Ronan doesn't. Just a flutter of blue eyes so he knows how to move, and then shifting so he settles on his thighs, just because he needed to be closer. This was reckless, and people would probably have said he wasn't the type to be caught up like this so quickly. But the truth was that Kavinsky knew him better in the past few hours than anyone else ever could.
He nips against his mouth with teeth, careful not to hurt, but like a tease, a provocation. He wanted everything he could, all he knew how to give, the way proximity just fueled the fire. He feels like he's flying and he just- he doesn't want to stop. He wants to pull Kavinsky off the edge of a cliff right along with him.]
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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.]