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The mouth around his dick isn’t doing it for him — it doesn’t help that the mouth is attached to some girl he met at one of his many parties. Short black hair, blue eyes, a harsh jawline — objectively, Kavinsky knows she’s not that pretty nor is she going to win any awards for being smart, but that isn’t why he culled her from the crowd earlier. No, Kavinsky chose her by the ice of her gaze reminded him of someone else. Her hair shorn just short enough to be convincing. The only issue is his brain can’t quite forget the mouth doing the work is attached to a pair of breasts.
He sighs, blowing cigarette smoke out of the partially open back window of the Mitsubishi. The bass is sexier than this blowjob. The party is still ongoing but he moved the car to be a distance away, but he can still see it going on. Orange flames cast dancing silhouettes and he knows his boys are in the crowd creating havoc. The thought makes him grin a little before he glances back down at the girl trying to get him off with her lack of deep-throating skills.
“Alright, that’s enough,” he says. She doesn’t have enough hair for him to yank her off of him but he grabs her shoulder to push her back. “Get out.”
“Joey,” she whines, blinking dark lashes up at him. “I just got started.”
“And I said I’m done, baby,” he replies harshly. “Get out of my fucking car.”
She looks pissed off, throwing daggers out of her eyes, as she climbs out of the car, slamming the door in his face. Kavinsky rolls his eyes, dick still out, he finishes his cigarette and rolls up the window. The bass makes the car shake and he wraps a hand around himself, wondering if he can get himself off instead. He only makes it two strokes before realizing he can’t quite hit the right headspace and his cock is already softening. He stuffs himself away, pulling out a new cigarette instead.
He’s been on the look out for a black BMW all night but so far Lynch hasn’t shown his ugly mug around here. He takes out his phone, checking his messages, but he hasn’t heard back from him either. The last message mocks him, read, but unanswered.
coming tonite?
No response.
Kavinsky takes a deep drag on the cigarette, puffing the smoke back out around it between his teeth as he types furiously.
i don’t like being toyed with lynch
He watches the read receipt flash in front of his eyes but Ronan doesn’t type back. Kavinsky almost slams his phone against the window of the car, anger white-hot beneath his skin. He can practically hear Swan laughing at him for becoming so worked up over Ronan fucking Lynch. He would deny it, of course, but the entire Pack knows he’s a goddamn liar. Then, his phone vibrates.
busy
with what?
unlike you i have real friends who need me lol maybe when i’m done i’ll come out if you’re still partying
Kavinsky’s lip raises in a sneer, his anger still palpable. He grips his busted phone so tightly in his hands, his knuckles pop. Ronan’s words always create thorns in his side, the bastard always knows where to prick and push. He doesn’t respond, deciding to leave Ronan on read for a change. Not that Ronan cares. The downside of being obsessed with Lynch is how little Ronan cares about him in return.
His phone vibrates again and he glances back down at their conversation but he has a new unread message. He looks down, seeing the group chat between him and the boys has a new message.
Skov: K where are you? Lol
Skov: If you’re still waiting on fucking Lynch to have fun, you’re going to wait until you’re goddamn 90
Swan: He’s totally waiting for Lynch lol
Proko: come hang out K :(
Kavinsky rubs his chin, tossing his phone onto the backseat of the car beside him. He throws the door open, leaving the car where it rests, nestled in between the trees. He briefly considers driving the Mitsu right into the party but he’s not exactly one for vehicular manslaughter. He might be a lot of things, but a psychotic murderer isn’t one. Besides, Skov, Swan, and Proko are right— he should be enjoying himself.
The first person he finds is not Skov, Swan, or Proko. Unsurprisingly, he finds Jiang sitting a bit away from the party, on the hood of his Supra, cleaning his nails with a knife. Littered around the car are empty cans of beer, another one resting within reach, nestled between the windshield and the engine hood. Kavinsky walks up to him, looking at Jiang curiously, wondering if he’s drunk yet. The only person who can outdrink him is Jiang.
“Jay,” he says, approaching quietly but he knows Jiang probably heard him long before he even saw Jiang’s silhouette.
Jiang’s dark eyes reflect the orange of the fire in the distance when he looks over. “Kavinsky. Moping over Lynch?”
Kavinsky rolls his eyes. He puts the white shades over his eyes so Jiang can’t make eye contact with him. “You know, I do more than think about Lynch.”
“Yeah, you find girls who look like him to blow you. That was fast,” Jiang comments. “Performance issues?”
The question grates over Kavinsky’s fragile ego, scraping divots and chipping away with cruel intent. “Shut the fuck up, Jiang.”
Jiang doesn’t show any emotion, just takes another swig of his beer. “You should really let a guy go down on you, it would probably make you feel less like a cunt.”
Kavinsky snorts. “And who is going to do that? You ? Fag.”
Jiang flips Kavinsky off as a response. They leave it at that, Kavinsky giving Jiang a dark look behind his shades, as he walks away. He needs a line. He needs a drink. As soon as he enters the crowd, someone hands him a drink, and then shortly after, he’s offered a handful of pills. Kavinsky takes them in his palm but doesn’t swallow them down. The only drugs he trusts are the ones he produces but he hands them off to the next person without question.
He drinks the beer he was given, the taste terrible, but cheap beer is better than being sober. His eyes scan the crowd for Prokopenko, but he doesn’t spot him amongst the party-goers. There are too many people here. Suddenly, the crowd is too much for him and he stumbles off to the side again. He fights through the swath of people until he can step into the shadows again. Overhead, the moon lights a weak path in the woods, and Kavinsky follows it until the fire is nothing but a red dot behind him.
He sags against a tree, slowly lowering himself to the ground. The bark is harsh against his back but he doesn’t pull away. He stares out in the dark, thinking of Lynch, thinking of Jiang’s words, thinking of Jiang sucking his dick, thinking of Lynch sucking his dick. He closes his eyes, focusing far too hard and long on the last image. It leaves him breathless.
The sound of twigs snapping makes his eyes open and he’s greeted with a tall, shadowy figure. For a moment, Kavinsky wonders if he fell asleep and pulled a nightmare back with him but the moon cuts a harsh highlight across a familiar face. Ronan Lynch stands in front of him, dressed in his usual funeral attire, complete with a massive black bird on his shoulder, tearing holes in his muscle-tee.
“Wake up, fuckweasel,” Ronan greets with barely any inflection.
Kavinsky grins just enough to suggest his amusement. “You came.”
“Told you I might.”
“And what was so important that you had to string me along like a poor would-be bride?” Kavinsky asks.
“Like I said, Kavinsky, I have real friends,” Ronan replies. “I’m sorry yours only care about your parties.”
He laughs with no humor, an explosive sound in the dark. “At least my friends let me be free ,” Kavinsky says.
“That’s because they don’t care about you,” Ronan says without missing a beat.
“Ouch.”
He shrugs one shoulder carelessly. The opposite one the bird sits on. “Truth hurts. What did you want me here for, anyway?”
Kavinsky finally stands up, still having to look up at Lynch which bothers him to the core. The bastard is so fucking tall. “I just wanted you here .” Kavinsky links his fingers in the belt loops of Ronan’s jeans, pulling him closer. Almost too close.
There are three types of secrets — ones you tell other people, ones you keep from yourself, and ones that you take to the grave. Kavinsky has all three, and Ronan Lynch is definitely one of them. He pulls Ronan closer still and Ronan doesn’t fight him. They’re so close now, he can feel Ronan breathing, and the heat of his body is oppressive. His raven flaps her wings once and then flies away, disturbed by the close contact.
“What are you doing?” Ronan asks. His voice is quieter than Kavinsky has ever heard it before, its bass sending shivers down Kavinsky’s spine.
Kavinsky leans up into Ronan’s space. Their lips are so close, they’re almost kissing. Ronan’s hand reaches up and takes off Kavinsky’s sunglasses, tossing them away into the dark, and for once Kavinsky doesn’t care. He searches Ronan’s eyes, still standing too close. They don’t pull away or touch; Ronan’s hands remain at his sides and Kavinsky’s hands over Ronan’s biceps but he doesn’t touch. They’re so close, it feels like a dream.
Maybe he did fall asleep. Maybe he entered their dream space together. This can’t be real.
“K,” Ronan breathes out.
“Just kiss me, you asshole,” Kavinsky snarls. He can’t be the one to make the first move. He’s not gay.
Ronan closes the small distance, their lips touching so hesitantly, it’s almost laughable. The bass in the distance leaves Kavinsky shivering cold all over. He leans into the kiss with desperation, deepening it, and finally allowing himself to touch Ronan. He wraps his arms around Ronan’s neck, melting into Ronan’s body.
The kiss is an electrical shock to his brain, it’s every mile per hour he’s gone over one hundred, it’s better than a race, it’s better than any line of coke. Ronan’s mouth opens and Kavinsky takes advantage, letting his tongue explore curiously. When Ronan backs him up, his shoulders press roughly against the bark of the tree, once again, scraping and cutting. The pain mixes with the absolute pleasure of the kiss. He’s in heaven.
Ronan breaks the kiss after a moment to take a breath, their eyes still locked on each other with laser precision. He can feel Ronan’s arousal pressing against his body, there’s no hiding it.
Kavinsky grins. “That a knife or are you just happy to see me?”
“Shut the fuck up, K,” Ronan replies.
He laughs, head falling back against the tree trunk. “Fuck,” he whispers, staring up at the stars above the canopy. Ronan starts to kiss his neck and Kavinsky doesn’t stop him. For once, all of his anger and sadness fade away and all that is left is happiness. Just for this one moment.
Ronan moves his lips to his ear, whispering to him, “Kavinsky. Wake up.”
“What?”
“Wake up.” Ronan’s voice is louder in his ear now. He startles, snapping back, and his eyes fly open. He’s pressed against a tree but he isn’t in Ronan Lynch’s arms. He blinks a few times, taking in the scene. He’s in the woods, Ronan is kneeling beside him looking crossed between annoyed and concerned. No bird in sight. He’s wearing a black leather jacket, the hood pulled over his bald head. They are not kissing.
He is, however, embarrassingly aroused. “Fuck.” He shoves Ronan off, standing up so he can turn around, trying to focus on anything but Lynch kissing him. The embarrassment is enough to send his dick crawling back in the opposite direction, and he pushes his hair back with his hands.
“You were asleep,” Ronan says.
“No shit,” Kavinsky snaps, voice sharp with embarrassment and anger. “The fuck do you want?”
“ You invited me here,” Ronan points out. “I’m here. What did you want?”
Kavinsky licks his lips, his back still to Lynch. He can’t turn around, he can’t look him in the eyes right now. He won’t be able to lie. He’ll spill every secret. He’ll confess. He’ll beg . Love is such a fucking bloodsport. Once he’s calmed down, Kavinsky turns back around, looking at Ronan with a dark smirk.
“Nothing,” Kavinsky replies. “I just like seeing you come when I call.”
Ronan rolls his eyes. “You’re such a piece of shit.”
“My middle name, actually,” Kavinsky jokes.
“Why did you come all the way out here, anyway?” Ronan asks.
Kavinsky shrugs, looking at the distant party. “Believe it or not, Lynch, I don’t always like to surround myself with so many people.” The words come out a little darker than he intends but he’s fucking tired. He’s not even high .
“No?” Ronan asks. He turns to face Kavinsky fully and he’s reminded of his dream. They’re close but not as close as in Kavinsky’s head. “Since when?”
“Since always,” Kavinsky replies sharply. “You don’t know me as good as you think, princess.”
“I guess not,” Ronan mutters. “Let’s get out of here, K.”
Kavinsky raises an eyebrow. “Together?”
Ronan nods. “Let’s go somewhere else.”
A thrill goes through him. “My car or yours?”
Ronan smiles a bit. “Mine. You’re a shit driver.”
Kavinsky rolls his eyes at the insult. “Let’s go, Lynch.”
Ronan turns, leading the way through the trees, and Kavinsky follows without question. He would follow Ronan anywhere. They have to pass by his friends on the way but Kavinsky ignores their calls. He’s always dreamed of riding in Ronan’s BMW. He runs his fingers over the handle almost reverently and then they’re sitting side by side. He stares at Ronan’s hand on the gear shift and almost puts his hand over the top of Ronan’s without thinking.
“Ready?” Ronan asks.
Kavinsky nods, leaning forward to turn on Ronan’s stereo. Ronan’s EDM washes over him and he closes his eyes. Perfect. Ronan spins the BMW around and they race out of there, hitting the pavement too fast. Kavinsky doesn’t care where they go, he doesn’t stop Ronan from driving, or tell him where to go. They drive, drive, drive, heading up into the foothills and mountains. They take dangerous roads and more than once, Kavinsky envisions them flying off of a cliff to their deaths.
What a way to go. Together.
When they finally reach the top of the mountain, Ronan parks the BMW, and they sit together for a while. The bass drops and Kavinsky grins. Everything about this moment is perfect. This is better than his dreams. Eventually, though, Ronan reaches forward to turn the music down, and Kavinsky looks over at him.
“What?” Kavinsky asks.
“I can’t get you out of my head,” Ronan admits quietly. “You’re always on my fucking mind.”
Kavinsky laughs. “Gay.”
“Yeah. I know that. You know that. We both know that. Why can’t other people know that?” Ronan asks, which Kavinsky supposes his way of asking why Kavinsky has to stay in the closet.
“Because my father is a psychopath,” Kavinsky replies darkly. And because I’m afraid .
“Your father is a dead man,” Ronan says. “At least, that’s what they say.”
Kavinsky snorts. “Don’t believe every rumor you hear.”
“He’s in Jersey. You’re here. How would he know?” Ronan argues.
“Thought you had a boner for Trailer Park?” Kavinsky snaps back, still on the defensive. He wants this but it is so hard to let himself have anything worth having. He’s too rotten for Lynch.
“Call him that again and I’ll shove your ass over this cliff,” Ronan snarls.
“Kinky.”
“I like Adam… I like a lot of guys,” Ronan corrects quietly. “But Adam doesn’t deserve me.”
“Oh, but I do.” Kavinsky laughs bitterly. “Got it.”
“That’s not what I mean, K—”
“Pretty sure it is. You can date me because I’m garbage. Parrish is a good guy, he can’t be with you. The bad boy, Lynch.”
Ronan sighs. “He likes Gansey, K.”
“God, what is it about Dicky Three anyway? Why does everyone have such a boner for him?” Kavinsky demands, annoyed, even with himself. He wouldn’t mind if Gansey tried to bend him over, too.
Ronan laughs a bit. “Don’t you see the appeal?”
Kavinsky sighs. “Maybe.”
“Point is… He doesn’t want me.”
“So, I’m sloppy seconds.”
“ No ,” Ronan growls. “No, K, you’re not. I like you. Jesus Christ, why do you make shit so hard , K? It’s always a fucking production with you. You can’t just accept that I like you, can you?”
“I dreamt we kissed,” Kavinsky blurts out. “Before you woke me up. That’s what I was dreaming about. Felt pretty fuckin’ real.”
Ronan stares at him but Kavinsky refuses to make eye contact. Instead, he stares out at the world below them through the windshield. The moon is so large, it feels as if he could reach out and pluck it from the sky. If Ronan asked, he would absolutely try. He’d do anything for Lynch, follow him anywhere.
“Look at me, K.”
Kavinsky sighs but he finally looks at Ronan. “ What ?” he demands coldly. “Going to make fun of me for being a fucking fag—”
Ronan puts a hand over his mouth, stopping Kavinsky from talking. “No,” he says. “You talk way too fucking much.” He drops his hand, pulling Kavinsy closer by his shirt until they can kiss. The kiss is not like the dream, it’s clumsy, awkward, with too many teeth, but it’s still a kiss. It sends Kavinsky’s brain right into overdrive. He feels like he’s going to pass out but he remains conscious.
They part after a brief first kiss and Ronan’s cheeks are darker in the moonlight. Kavinsky’s grin is lopsided when it forms. “Don’t look at me like that,” Ronan mutters.
“Like what?”
“Like you’d rearrange the cosmos for me, it’s fucking gay,” Ronan says.
Kavinsky laughs. He throws the BMW’s door open and climbs out, looking down at the little city of Henrietta. His laughter echoes in the darkness. He hears Ronan join him, feels Ronan’s hand wrap around his shirt, preventing him from toppling over the edge. Romantic.
Up here, he’s invincible. Up here, he’s safe. Nothing can hurt them here. Kavinsky yells into the night, laughing, and then without thinking, he screams as loud as he can, “ I’m a fucking faggot, Henrietta! ”
“K!” Ronan exclaims, taken aback, but his shock is followed by laughter. “The fuck, man?”
“There,” Kavinsky says, glad to finally say it out loud. “Happy now? All of Henrietta knows.”
“No one knows, it’s just up here,” Ronan points out.
“Don’t ruin this coming-out moment for me.”
“Do you want to fucking go out or not, K?” Ronan asks, clearly at the end of his patience.
Kavinsky grabs Ronan’s shirt collar and pulls him down, almost close enough to kiss. “I’m fucked up.”
“So am I.”
“You’re either with me or against me, Lynch. Remember?”
“I know.”
Kavinsky does kiss him then. All of his anger and all of his sadness dissipate, carried away by the mountain wind. Ronan wraps his arms around him and conveniently pulls him back toward the car. “It’s a long way down,” Ronan mutters.
Kavinsky winks. “Is that a euphemism or—”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Regretting your decision already, Lynch?”
Ronan rolls his eyes. “I’ll take you back to your car.”
“Where does Gansey fall in this?” Kavinsky asks then. “I don’t play well with others.”
“I’m sure you two can work a schedule out like responsible dog owners,” Ronan replies sarcastically. “Let’s go, K.”
Well, Kavinsky supposes he can learn how to share. After all, dogs need exercise and socialization. Kavinsky climbs back into the BMW and can't wipe the grin off of his face the entire ride back to the Mitsubishi.