[you know how this feels like, it feels like kavinsky has his fingers wrapped tightly around something murphy wants. and murphy keeps pattering, picking at his knuckles. trying to wiggle into the gaps between his digits, peel his fist open, to get at. whatever the fuck he thinks he's getting at. it makes kavinsky want to fight him on it. squeeze so hard, that whatever he's holding ends up crushed, suffocated, killed.
he'd rather that die than die himself.
which is pretty much what's happening. he kisses murphy back, a little angrily, but it's probably hard for murphy to tell through the haze of mixed substances. he still does all the normal things: unfurls his tongue, spreading murphy's mouth open, a languorous tasting while props himself with one hand planted on the car seat next to murphy's head. (kavinsky knows he's pretty.) (it was everything, besides power, besides powers.) (and all that shit was never enough, anyway.)
there's a jingle and tiny weight of keys setting down on top of murphy's chest, then long fingers working open murphy's fly.]
Don't tell me you're saving it, Murph, [he says, drawing his nose down murphy's cheek, to his throat, down down again.]
no subject
he'd rather that die than die himself.
which is pretty much what's happening. he kisses murphy back, a little angrily, but it's probably hard for murphy to tell through the haze of mixed substances. he still does all the normal things: unfurls his tongue, spreading murphy's mouth open, a languorous tasting while props himself with one hand planted on the car seat next to murphy's head. (kavinsky knows he's pretty.) (it was everything, besides power, besides powers.) (and all that shit was never enough, anyway.)
there's a jingle and tiny weight of keys setting down on top of murphy's chest, then long fingers working open murphy's fly.]
Don't tell me you're saving it, Murph, [he says, drawing his nose down murphy's cheek, to his throat, down down again.]