[ He knows he could stop this. Kavinsky weighs about as much as the next cokehead -- which probably isn't much more than 100 pounds soaking wet. -- and Ronan has easily a good half of a foot of height on him, but he's frozen there on the spot, allowing his brain to be torn between feeling an overwhelming rush of pleasure and years of tension finally being released, and the guilt that he feels because there's no emotion there.
What he's feeling for Kavinsky right now isn't what he feels for Adam. It's never been what he's felt for Adam. His feelings for Adam had always been consuming, but not in the dark way that his ones for Kavinsky had been. His feelings for Adam came from a pure and untouched place while these ones for Kavinsky were born out of spite, disgust, and anger.
A Catholic even in a place where it seems not to matter, punishing himself for the sins he feels he's committed.
Low moans sound as though they're being ripped from out of Ronan. Strangled -- both by himself trying to contain them and Kavinsky's thin fingers hold on his throat -- as they leave him and he tears his gaze away from Kavinsky's as the boy strokes him. Slow at first, twisting his wrist lazily and going about the task with about as much enthusiasm as the boy gave anything, then eventually with more fervor. Thumbing away precum and toying with the steadily leaking slit, Ronan's hips betraying him and bucking upward anxiously. ]
Being the only fucking person here makes you the last choice as well as the first.
[ His words hold hardly any conviction, his head tilted back and his eyes screwed shut. The hand he has holding on to Kavinsky's shoulder, moves up along his neck, fingers sliding over his Adam's apple and then seeking out the pulse point a little higher. ]
no subject
What he's feeling for Kavinsky right now isn't what he feels for Adam. It's never been what he's felt for Adam. His feelings for Adam had always been consuming, but not in the dark way that his ones for Kavinsky had been. His feelings for Adam came from a pure and untouched place while these ones for Kavinsky were born out of spite, disgust, and anger.
A Catholic even in a place where it seems not to matter, punishing himself for the sins he feels he's committed.
Low moans sound as though they're being ripped from out of Ronan. Strangled -- both by himself trying to contain them and Kavinsky's thin fingers hold on his throat -- as they leave him and he tears his gaze away from Kavinsky's as the boy strokes him. Slow at first, twisting his wrist lazily and going about the task with about as much enthusiasm as the boy gave anything, then eventually with more fervor. Thumbing away precum and toying with the steadily leaking slit, Ronan's hips betraying him and bucking upward anxiously. ]
Being the only fucking person here makes you the last choice as well as the first.
[ His words hold hardly any conviction, his head tilted back and his eyes screwed shut. The hand he has holding on to Kavinsky's shoulder, moves up along his neck, fingers sliding over his Adam's apple and then seeking out the pulse point a little higher. ]
Get off me. I don't wanna...