thisavrou | o4 🔥 text (nsfw, drugs, etc.)

Skip to Main Content

Entry tags:

o4 🔥 text (nsfw, drugs, etc.)

scenario: bae is mad cuz u didnt fuck him good

& now there ain't nothing making it right. not all the fucking cocaine and free porn and $900 scotch and diamond encrusted watches and faberge eggs (literal) and novelty dildos and dick sucking in the world. in two worlds. i'm talking about two fucking worlds worth of that shit on offer, and he still mad.

what the fuck am i supposed to do

waht do you do

what have you done. only solutions that work thx

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Can't you just come over.

fine

why would u think anytin in this fucking multiverse is > fair?
u seen some shit. i know u have

im on my way

That doesn't make it right.

The door's open.

[kavinsky shows up in the arborous district, at the treehouse bryan used to share with his friends. a skinny figure in a black leather jacket, a chronically bored expression on his too-gaunt face. he should know better than to bring gifts at this point, after bribe after bribe had failed, but the bottle of liquor that he brings is already open at the top so-- so. so it was mostly for himself. to calm his nerves or something. not that kavinsky got anxious, just that he's been given a great deal of gay sex advice recently, and he's never had to actually do anything like this before.

even if he'll never admit to feeling uncomfortable, this lies well outside his comfort zone.

knock knock. he glances around at the forest around him.]

[Bryan doesn't spend much time at the treehouse, hasn't since the others disappeared. Usually, he's at Kavinsky's place or in one of the cities, but he hasn't felt like going much of anywhere after what happened with the other guy. He wasn't used to this. He didn't know how to circumnavigate a casual relationship that didn't always seem so casual, but that was his fault.

He pulls the door open.] Said it was open. [He waves Kavinsky inside, crossing the room to flop on the couch.]

Sit wherever you want.

[Now the problem was that he'd told him to come over and he wasn't being all that nice. Good one, Bryan.]

[kavinsky's being nice for kavinsky. he has pushed out exactly zero turds in the last ten minutes, for example. he walks in and looks around, frowning slightly at the reminder he'd-- forgotten the fucking instructions, or whatever. he's not good at paying attention, as a general rule. he thinks he probably should have done some cocaine.

he looks at bryan on the couch like he might an unsolved math problem. he squeaks his shoes on over to the other boy, his eyes flicking back and forth.

and then, predictable as a cat, he tries to sit on bryan. it's not particularly elegant. a knee crashing down next to bryan's thigh, the other one astride him.] Sorry, [he says, his cigarette-stinky fingers poking the other boy's chest.] That's what you want to fucking hear, right? Sorry, baby. Sweetheart.

[Bryan sighs, leaning back as his hands come up to Kavinsky's hips, keeping him steady as he straddles his lap but not letting him get too much closer if he can.]

Not if you don't mean it.

[That's the rub. He doesn't want Kavinsky to apologize if it's not genuine. He'd rather deal with the fact that he's not actually sorry than hear a load of shitty false apologies.] I liked what we were doing. Like being around you.

Why'd you have to push? [He squeezes Kavinsky's hips, a gentle pressure.] You have to know by now that a lot of what we do together is new for me. Most of what you do when we're fucking I like, but not that.

If you want me to tell you about people I left behind, I'll tell you.

[bryan has such nice hands. big, broad. beautiful. he's touched them before, not in any kind of tender or romantic way, but enough to know there's a rough spot under his forefinger when it's used to hugging a trigger. that the muscle in his biceps and shoulders isn't just for show; that there's a surety and strength in his grip that feels good when you're on him or under him. he can hold you up against a wall and screw you like you've only read about

or

you know. stop you from getting any closer. damn it, bryan's sexy delts. kavinsky's mouth twitches into an irritated frown, but he doesn't try to fight. he studies the boy's sad eyes instead.] 'Cause it fucks me off when people have what I can't have, [he says, after a moment. a rare moment's honesty.] Okay. Tell me. Him, then your best friend, [he really doesn't understand love okay!] then your worst enemy.

[Bryan's brow furrows, grip loosening. He's a little thrown by how honest that just was, pleased by it, but definitely thrown. He doesn't try to say that he could have it too, that anything anyone else can experience so can Kavinsky - Bryan doesn't know if that's true. Life was unkind to some people. Love could be elusive, hard to grasp and impossible to have.]

You wanna talk about that?

[They didn't have to, if he didn't want to.]

His name is Nate. We were gonna start a farm together, raise chickens. Things were weird between us. [He'd been his best friend too.] We called them Grounders. People who survived and lived on Earth. When we came down there was a lot of fighting. Lot of people died.

Sounds gorey, [kavinsky says, after a long moment.] Exciting I guess. Not too personal, except I'm pretty sure it fucking feels personal when somebody's trying to kill you and your chicken farmer husband. [it makes sense. but it's utterly alien to kavinsky. the greatest threat to his survival as his father first, and then himself second— there was never any competition for basic resources or territories that explained jack.

just monsters clashing. kavinsky scratches his fingers over his cheek, restless, aggravated. his drama feels very first world, and love, he hasn't gotten at all.]

Not much to say, [he says, finally.] Doesn't matter. [he manages to sound dismissive, even as he starts to fall over sideways on bryan's lap— childishly trying to distract himself, bryan, into the elaborate story that he doesnt care. he's just going to collapse here on the couch and stretch around like he's bored. are you convinced, bryan. are you convinced. are you convinced.]

Sure does.

[Bryan rolls his eyes and follows Kavinsky, spreading out over him on the couch. He balances on his elbows over him, head canted to the side. He's always curious about the other boy's past but isn't the kind of guy to pressure someone else into talking, not when they don't really want to.]

You don't have to talk about it, but that doesn't mean it doesn't matter. You matter.

[Just as Kavinsky tries to brush it aside, Bryan counters it with something probably a little too feelsy for them both. He leans down and presses an open mouthed kiss to Kavinsky's chin.]

Alright?

[the problem with putting so much emphasis on sex in your life is that

well it's a two-way street, isn't it? yeah you can creep on people, predatory, use them for their bodies and their time. but it turns into any commodity, where you want more of it too, and little kisses become like a fucking haggling process that'll keep your foot in the door, hanging around in hopes of a deal.

(either that or kavinsky's more ordinary than he lets on— looking for sex because it's the closest approximation to love.)]

I know, [he says, automatically. it's the wrong thing to say. it contradicts him from earlier, shows him up as a liar, and one who lies to cover up his weaknesses. it's a mistake. bryan has him off-center a little. what kind of moron offers comfort to joseph kavinsky? he opens his mouth to turn it into stupid sex stuff again, but what comes out is,]

But I don't think that changes jack. [he looks up at bryan, trying to reframe this to himself in terms of: how many kisses can i get.] You matter. Doesn't make you feel good.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only