[ Ronan's not sure which he feels more of -- shame, arousal or some twisted mixture of both that has his entire body practically trembling and his voice shaky and ragged as he speaks. Dry and cracked as though he'd swallowed down sandpaper. ]

Fuck. Kavinsky.

[ He doesn't even realize the name leaves his lips, nor does he realize that it takes the form of a low groan. ]

You're always looking too deep into things. I'm here because I got bored.

[ And Ronan quickly discovers just how difficult it is to make that statement convincing when there's suddenly the feeling of Kavinsky's hand wrapping around his cock, his lithe frame pressing firm against his own, trapping him on the couch and his touch igniting Ronan's skin.

Five years ago he would have wanted this.
Five years ago he would have attached his mouth to Kavinsky's and bucked his hips into the boy's hand until he came.
But five years ago was exactly that: five years ago. ]

I'm only here right now, this isn't something permanent.