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maskormenace
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Up to R for language, individual threads/comments to be marked with warnings accordingly in the subject header if you plase.
Up to R for language, individual threads/comments to be marked with warnings accordingly in the subject header if you plase.
no subject
his too-long tongue in a sucking curl, the vulgar shape of his mouth screwed in tight with want. it's all saliva and narrowly-avoided snicking teeth, the wall of kavinsky's mouth drawing reggie's in. he's gotten better at kissing since he came to this world. something about having no escape via suicide from the practical necessity of learning how to reciprocate.
he grabs two generous handfuls of reggie's ass. it goes as it should. except— you know.
except that kavinsky's dick isn't cooperating. and in a few moments-- grabbing and kissing and muttering curses, after enough time— it's going to be pretty obvious that bullheadedly ignoring that shit isn't
exactly going to work out in favor of anybody's sense of masculinity. but then again, that's in a few moments.
and for the brief one he's in now, kavinsky thinks, with some relief, that reggie tastes all right.]
no subject
... Hmm. Hard not to notice after a couple of minutes, even under a layer or two of clothing, that Reggie's hand is palming something that's still soft. Even more obvious once Kavinsky starts grumbling more into their increasingly rough and sloppy kissing, but rather than make fun of him for it, Reggie decides the more hands on approach of venturing below Kavinsky's waistband to give him a more legitimate hand job seems like the logical next step. ]
Here, want me to--?
[ But he's already headed there, fingers slipping slowly below the other boy's belt. ]
no subject
as his dick comes out to play, but in listless spirits. it sits pink in the hollow of reggie's hand, thinking to twitch once when kavinsky urges it. the bulgarian kid stares down at for an instant, his guts squirming like snakes—
fuck it. fuck this.
he tries harder. he crams his mouth against reggie's then, willing his goddamn johnson to rise, to take pleasure in the nice boy-smell at the hollow of reggie's neck, his razor-shorn hair dangling down against his cheek, lips as fatly plush, generously proportioned as kavinsky's mouth himself. he pushes his tongue into reggie's mouth and tries to find reggie's in turn, to pull on it like it's a little animal struggling not to be caught.
he can't fuck this up. it would be too fucking pathetic.]
no subject
Well, maybe it's a good thing. Maybe it's an omen that this isn't supposed to happen, especially if neither of them really want it to, but like Kavinsky, Reggie is also stubborn. He kisses harder, teeth catching on Kavinsky's lips briefly, and then pulls away. ]
We don't have to bang, you know. Or I could always...
[ ... Do the fucking, since after all, Reggie rarely has any difficulty getting hard. He gives Kavinsky a few more enthusiastic but fruitless strokes, exhaling and looking at him with a dubious, narrow-eyed expression. ]
Would it even help if I blow you?
tw homophobic language; pls lmk if you don't like this! and sorry k is a biiiitch
and let's be real, he was never very good at that, either.]
Fuck you, faggot.
[it's-- stupidly transparent. and maybe-- hopefully, reggie sees it coming, when he shoves the door open. and then when he plants his tattooed hands against reggie's lithe frame, and shoves him, with all the violent impetus of childish, foolish boy insecurity. kavinsky can't even look at him. maybe he'll regret it later, or as close to regret as he ever allows himself to get, in his nigh sociopathic worldview. he turns away. it's hard to see, even though he's not crying.]
it's all good 👍🏽 THAT'S WHY WE LOVE HIM
But Kavinsky is different. They are friends, sort of, but he still gives off a vibe that often Reggie can't help but stay wary of, so more often than not he plays it safe whenever they hang out.
Not that it seems to have made a difference. He bristles a little when Kavinsky speaks, but it's enough to get his guard back up, preparing him for what happens next; he's shoved out of the car, but manages to catch his balance against the door rather than just topple to the pavement onto his ass. He straightens up, hastily smooths down any wrinkles in his shirt, and steps away from the car. ]
What the hell's wrong with you?
[ So much for friendly, but unless he really loves you, Reggie's friendliness is pretty conditional anyway. And rejection (of a sort) or coming at him (or in this case, a bit of both) are two easy ways to break him of it. Maybe not permanently, but certainly for now. ]
Look, don't think I'm scared of this whole little "psychopath" act you've got going on, if you pull something like that on me again I'll kick your ass.
[ The only thing stopping him from trying to do so now is because this is still more posturing of bruised egos than it is a real fight, although it could easily escalate into one-- Reggie is ready for it if need be, but not quite to the point where he's necessarily gunning for one. ]
Get out of the car. I need to hand this thing over soon.
FEEL FREE TO HIT HIM OR WHATEVER YOU WANT OK/OK and more powerposing from me
reggie isn't wrong. they are friends. sort of. as close as kavinsky has ever had to a friend, in all nineteen-- twenty? years of his life. he's too young to have lost count of his years, but there you go. enough drugs, enough psychotherapeutic surgery. he's missing parts. he has implants. whatever he has in place of a heart tells him to get this the fuck over with; it's not like you can really die here, anyway.
slowly, very deliberately, he gets out. he gets up. the key's in his hand already, ground off into the ignition. they jingle. he reaches over and slips them into reggie's pocket.
and then he spits, friendly, onto the fine, faintly swollen pink shape of reggie's mouth. a bastardized and perverted kiss.]
OH IT'S HAPPENING
And maybe part of Reggie's so-called patience with Kavinsky has less to do with tolerance or loyalty and more to do with the fact Kavinsky kind of creeps him out, but because they are friends -- sort of -- Reggie doesn't mind humoring him to an extent. Edgy assholes will keep acting like edgy assholes, and most of the time it'll be transparent enough that he won't feel provoked by it. He can be an edgy asshole at times, too, so he knows the entire point is to get a reaction. Therefore, the best way to deal with other edgy assholes is to just roll your eyes and move on.
He was still willing to roll his eyes and move on even after all this, even after Kavinsky gets out of the car and puts the keys in Reggie's pocket, but then... nope, fucking hell no, being spit on is the last straw. Insult to injury, as it were, so he gives Kavinsky a bastardized kiss of his own back, but with his fist. He doesn't even have to think about it; one second Reggie is seeing red, and the next, his arm is cocking back to propel a punch across Kavinsky's face, and not a gentle one. ]
What did I just freaking tell you?
no subject
and then he laughs. curls his lip. spits again, but this time into the pavement. the glob of saliva that he leaves behind is pink. he thinks about what will happen when lachesis comes for him; that he, and his spit, all molecules of his shit, everything he is and has made, will probably entirely disappear. the thought brings him no particular solace; he's bad at shit like, 'solace.' he's bad at friendship, too.]
I heard you, [he says.] Okay, Mantle. Have fun wit' your ride and your boys.
[he lifts his chin. a nod that's almost friendly, all things considered. he turns away.,]