maskormenacelogs | 1O 👶 IN MY ROOM THERE'S A KING-SIZED SPACE

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1O 👶 IN MY ROOM THERE'S A KING-SIZED SPACE

WHO: Joseph Kavinsky & John Murphy
WHERE: A swanky hotel in Heropa
WHEN: July 2017, during the Raven Boys' trip to England
WHAT: They're gaying up the log community
WARNINGS: Probably some NSFW for sexual content eventually, but for now, just mental illness, offensive language, etc.

Maybe there aren't enough bathrooms to go around in the Meadows, or the concept of wine in the luxury jacuzzi-jetted tub is just new. Regardless of why, Kavinsky steps into the hotel bathroom to find Murphy asleep in the water. The tin of bath salts is open on the end and the wall-mounted TV is playing something that flickers ghostly blue light over Murphy's motionless face, and his head tipped over, at a dreadful angle that promises to leave Murphy's neck screaming agony like some crucial bolt got unscrewed if he steeps too long.

It's only been a couple of days since Ronan and the Spice Boys fucked off to England, but Kavinsky is halfway accustomed to the routine of Murphy hanging out. Nothing elaborate: an extra body along for meals out, more movies-on-demand to pay for, the weird late morning spectacle of Murphy wearing his shirts despite that the room provides bathrobes for two.

(He only woke up two times last night, discomfited by the nudge of another body in the dark.) (The night before, he'd stabbed a man and come back, exhilarated, lying that he'd just had to soak coffee stains out of his shirt. Memorably, they'd made out for an hour.)

He sits on the lip of the tub and looks at Murphy for what feels long a long time. People look younger when they're sleeping, and Murphy's young to begin with. After awhile, Kavinsky apparently comes to some conclusion inside. He picks up the soap bar and slips his fingers into the warm, glass-green water, drifting his grip down to the boy's wrist. He pulls his hand up, glancing over the pads of Murphy's fingers beginning to prune. He starts to scrub.

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[ there's probably a lot more to it than a limit of bathrooms or drinking wine from the bottle in a luxury jacuzzi. Even beyond the anxiety it gives him to be all alone in a huge but empty house, so used to living in close quarters with others, whether it was in the limited space of the ark, in the tents and hammocks in the drop ship camp, or closed into their hide away cave with Emori. There was always the sound or at least feel of someone else being nearby. But this is more than that too. He could've gone to someone else's place, dropped in on his old room in the heropa house maybe. But he showed up at Kavinsky's hotel door, claiming that he was bored and k clearly isn't doing anything important otherwise.

But the jacuzzi part certainly doesn't hurt. Murphy's never particularly been in the lap of luxury before, even in that swank bachelor pad bunker he was starving to death in, and he's intent to enjoy it - half empty wine bottle set aside on the tile next to the jacuzzi, tub all full of warm water and bubbles, something riveting on the tv that he's no longer watching, seeing as he's passed out, head lolled on a folded up towel padding the lip of the bath. He's still and quiet in his sleep, skin blushed with the heat of the water, and doesn't wake until the fingers around his wrist start to scrub.

Typically, he'd have jolted awake at the first sounds of the door creaking, or footsteps approaching. Instead, it's an easy rousing, bleary blinking, his pruned fingers curling reflexively against the arm underneath them. His eyes blink open, confused a heartbeat or two, before he smiles lazily. ] Gonna wash my hair too?

[ his voice is groggy, and it's an oddly tender thing, k starting to scrub him clean, the voice more fond than anything else. His hair and face have mostly dried since he'd passed out, so he doesn't get k's pants damp when he squirms to shift his chin over, placing it in one of his knees, then tilting to lay his cheek there instead, breathing out a relaxed sigh. ]

Mmmmmmm, [kavinsky says, a thinking sound. in the meantime, his hands are still moving, rubbing the flat of murphy's arm until a thin sheen of iridescent bubbles forms up against the crook of his wrist. he gropes his way along the limb until he reaches murphy's bicep, fingering the slim musculature for a moment before he pauses. stoops his head down. combat training has made him more flexible. he can bend his spine far enough to sniff at murphy's hair on his lap.

hmmmmm.]

Yep, that smells pretty rank, baby. [a smile brushes the shell of murphy's ear-- a haphazard kiss. and then he straightens again, his palm scaling up over the boy's shoulder and over his chest.] GYou gnna tell me about your day? [he asks.] Looks like you're trying to build yourself a wine paunch. You know you could've done thatn London, too. [there's no clear hint of a trap in the remark, but then kavinsky sneaks his fingers in under murphy's armpit and gives the tips a mean little wiggle against the ticklish cluster of nerves right there. if anything in murphy's life were about to suddenly be fair, it wouldn't be joseph kavinsky.]

[ he can hear kavinsky sniff at his hair, and murphy snickers, trying to turn his head quick enough to steal a kiss, but k moves back too fast, murphy letting out a little huff before flopping his head back down, eyes blinking closed to enjoy the touch along his arms and chest. ]

Yeah, but I'd be down a personal bath scrubber. [ well, he's pretty sure one of the ronan posse would be up for it if he asked, but he didn't want to ask, and he didn't want them doing it - he wants kavinsky, and that's the entire point of here, not there. murphy's sure london's very exciting, but he's not interested in vacationing at the moment. k's fingers squirm under his arms and murphy jerks, a little seize from the tickling, and when a hand raises up to try to return the intrusion to the underside of kavinsky's knee, there is water that gets soaked into his slacks this time. oops oops, don't be a butt and you won't get wet. ]

Woke up. Cleaned the toilet with your toothbrush. Went down stairs and grabbed some free waffles. Watched the news, saw there's some hero stuff going on, thought about heading out to contribute some heroics. Decided to order room service instead. [ murphy idly chatters as he shifts around in the tub, head back to pillowing on k's thighs, sitting up so as to pull more of his torso out of the water and give kavinsky all the skin he'd like to scrub at. of course, half of this is completely untrue, but it's murphy, so what do you expect? ] Had some hookers and drugs delivered. Ran up your bill with on demand porn. Did a wine cleanse, now I'm washing off the coke the last fuckboy did off my stomach.

[ a beat, before he blinks his eyes open, glancing up to kavinsky. there's only his boxers from last night and one of k's shirts laying on the bathroom floor, one order for room service and a movie, clearly no evidence of prostitutes or narcotics left around. so, yeah, he's full of shit. ] I sat on my ass and watched TV. Didn't even get pants on yet.

[kavinsky soaps the other boy's chest in methodical swipes, clockwise motions that leave a dreamy swirl of translucent suds on his chest, a galaxy of new hygiene. he's not ungentle but maybe more surprisingly~ and meaningfully, nor is he as clinical as he could be. the situation is pretty gay and gettin' gayer.]

Look at you, you're filthy, [is definitely a double-entendre. comes accompanied by kavinsky dragging a wet fingernail up his throat, under his jaw. his digits have grown out since he stopped snorting blow, and by now there's enough of an edge of keratin that he comes away with a faint grey rim of skin leavings from murphy's neck. but it just makes him smile. he winds up moving, his knees-- both wet and dry-- hitting the bathroom floor. he settles comfortably down on the bath mat. rinses off his finger, and scritches gently down murphy's sternum.

it puts them on eye-level, and kissing level, and level for other things kavinsky doesn't do yet.] I could get you some. Boys, girls. Video, real thing. [if it's another insane jealousy trick, it's one that starts off sounding insanely mild, accompanied by a thumb poking friendly into his collarbones.]

[ gayest murphy's ever been, certainly, either with men or women. he and emori didn't do too much in the way of soft, squishy sweet things, unless you consider fucking on animal furs and murdering together to be particularly fluffy. but he's enjoying this, the easiness of it, the lack of nerves or anxiety or second guessing. it's calmed some, since the incident at fanport. murphy's stopped trying to puzzle kavinsky out, accepted more that he ought to just go with what's happening, and he's been more contented for it. enough that he smiles, and lets out a snort at the maybe-maybe-not test. ] I know how to get me my own, if I wanted.

[ it'd be the same answer if it clearly wasn't a test too. murphy's never been huge on sex drive, aside from the general teenage urges and desires. not enough to actively go seeking it out, and definitely not enough to try to pay for it. as far as he's concerned, the boy he's with right now is the hottest thing he's known in this world, so what would be the point in trying to order out? ]

Your turn. [ with kavinsky scrubbing at him, murphy's leaned against the edge of the tub, facing him, and his hands reach out, for the buttons on k's shirt, while the boy's hands are occupied with soaping up his chest, tugging buttons loose. baths are good for sharing, okay? ] What've you been off doing? Getting your socks dry cleaned?

[kavinsky feels his shirt start to pop open, button by button. by now, it's a standard worry but not going to crush his soul, about-- what if he stays soft. what murphy will do if he notices, who he'll tell. kavinsky hasn't had trouble so far! he has an artillery of excuses in case--

but mostly, he just stoops his shoulder obligingly, freeing it from the shirt once murphy's opened enough of it. and in the meantime, he wanders his hand down murphy's torso. the water slips over his wrist, but there's still soap slimy on his fingers, hugging onto the other boy's skin in case he happened to feel unproductive about washing an immersed surface. (he wasn't.) (he'd do it anyway.)] Got my car washed, [he says, rubbing a circle around murphy's navel.] Filled my scrip, checked out the latest on this clone clusterfuck.

Mine shot up a drag race with fireworks. [once his buttondown is off, he picks up his arms so murphy can pull the undershirt up and off him, if he would be so kind as to assist.] I'm probably gonna go find him.

[and hunt him and give him to the constelation. u no. nbd.]

[ yes, it would probably be a little crushing, if murphy couldn't get k hard, if there was just this blatant display of 'not fucking good enough'. he wouldn't likely get outwardly upset, but it would stick with him. he'd wonder, if it'd been ronan in the bath and not him, if kavinsky wouldn't have the same problem.

but at the moment, he's blissfully unaware of the possibility, just tugging k's undershirt off and slinging it on top the counter nearby. ] Busy day. What'll you do when you find him?

[ he honestly isn't sure how kavinsky handles things like this. ronan had told him he'd just killed over any dream things he didn't like, maybe it'll be the same with a clone. either murphy's lucky and had a very quiet clone, or no clone at all. he hasn't really gone in search, especially not when he has this hotel room to spend all day relaxing in. escapism is nice, sometimes. the hand rubbing at him is hard to move against, murphy's eyes slipping closed, and a pleased hum that could've been a purr if humans actually made those kinds of noises, just enjoying the sensation.

still, his fingers that'd been trailing over kavinsky's chest hook into the belt loops of his slacks, giving a little tug at him. they hadn't gone so far as to get completely naked with each other yet, oddly slow for the both of them, so he isn't going to push it, but he's clearly wanting k to lose the garment, and hop in with him. ] C'mon. I've been bored all day.

You ever heard of this thing called 'flattery?' [kavinsky's hair ends up slightly smushed and deconstructed by the passage of the shirt over his head. he swipes his bangs off his forehead with his dry hand, then finally withdraws.] 'At least you ain't boring' comes in at a C-, Murph.

[but he's still unbuttoning his slacks, unzipping them. thumbing the trousers down his skinny hips, taking underwear down with them. by now, his dick isn't a new spectacle, but the thighs are new, his knees. unlike ash stymest!! doesn't have crudely-drawn cocks inked into his legs. a block of cyrillic text here, a shaded half-skull. he was once every bit the edgelord that his tv station was worth.

plunk! he puts one foot in the bath, between murphy's ankles. plunk! then the second one, his slim frame moving gracefully despite the uncertain footing. he folds himself gracefully into a crouch. the musculature in his stomach has a harder cut by far than it did a few months ago, but ronan isn't here to tattle or suspect.

kavinsky tugs on murphy's chin, arm. apparently unwilling to allow drowsing. come, come.] Happen to know someone interested in a live sample.

[ murphy's eyes roll, letting out a snort, making room as kavinsky slinks himself into the water (not that room is difficult in a freaking jacuzzi), eyes wandering over his lower half as he moves - his dick, his thighs, his tattoos, his cute little feet. pale skin that flushes with the water's heat. flattery, the man says, and yes, he's exercised the concept before, but usually for people he doesn't actually like that much. a laugh, low and lazy, as murphy scooches his butt forward when tugged at. ]

Okay, fine. How about... I've been waiting here since at least noon for this pretty face-- [ bubble covered hands lift up to squish k's cheeks between his palms as he leans in, lips all puckered as he talks like someone's too affection grandma. ] And these perfect lips-- [ a slow, full kiss ] And this hot as hell body-- [ hands groping down his chest, over his hips, to grip at his ankles and tug his feet out, so murphy's thighs can flop over the top of his, legs folding at k's back, not quite sitting in his lap, but tangled up anyway. ] To come back, and now I just can't stand the thought of all this roaming around the same hotel room as me without getting to touch on it some.

[ did he do the flattery? are you flattered? does he get a grade improvement yet? even with all the objectification talk, though, after the kiss, murphy seems content to just sit tangled up and start to idly build little bubble bath mountain ranges on kavinsky's shoulders and hair, chatting. ] Like, what, donating it to science? Creepy. How like you is it? Like with your memories and crap? Or just your face?

Mostly my face. Some shitty basics about my interests from fandom.

[kavinsky is very thin, there isn't a lot of chub to his cheeks for squishing, but he obligingly puts his head just so that the other boy can mess with it. in the meantime, he's pulling more soap onto his fingers and starting to clean murphy's other arm. squeaking him nice and clean, his skin going slick as kavinsky works.] Donating it to science is close enough. Dunno what they want, but I might watch. Could learn something. [his voice is very mild.

but he's also starting to smile. wider and wider, after the kiss, after the pretty words, his hollow eyes thinning, crinkling, above the creases created by murphy's dumb squeezing. kavinsky isn't even meeting his eye, occupied with washing out the trench of his clavicle and then cupping water over the inside of his elbow. he winds up following the bend of murphy's arm all the way up to where his palm is pressed to kavinsky's cheek. hand over hand. then he looks up.]

A-. It's hard to do any better without a little stalking and boom box to hold up. Do you know you're pretty, sweetheart?

You really wanna watch that? [ murphy's nose crinkles, thinking about something with kavinsky's face getting pulled apart for science. he wouldn't be able to watch, that's for sure. even if it were a stranger, some things just make his stomach turn. even if murphy's willing to murder and torture, it doesn't mean he particularly enjoys it. there's survival, and then there's getting off on it. The latter part he gets for a good bought of tumbling around and punching each other. after that, it's just gross.

borrowing the soap from kavinsky, murphy lathers up his own hands, and starts to scrub along k's neck and shoulders, the upper half of his chest and down his arms. ] Maybe you can make it into your next exhibit thing. The way too literal inward reflection.

[ he could see kavinsky doing something like that. probably wouldn't be as popular as his brain thing, but he's sure some people would find something artistic to say about it. murphy ducks his head a little, almost shy smile on his lips, hearing kavinsky call him pretty. he'd never really though of himself as particularly attractive, even with ronan being around (there's so much that's different between the two of them, and ronan wears it so much better), and it does something sweet to him to hear kavinsky say it. leaning in, he kisses him again, slow and soft, murmuring against his lips. ]

I'm not making a flattery requirement, don't worry about it, darling. [ he's just happy to be here. reach to the side, he tugs up the half full bottle of wine from the tile next to the tub, taking a swig, before holding it out. ] Want some?

[kavinsky's eyes swing off toward the bottle of wine, the smile on his face widening fractionally. he sits patient under murphy's tender ministrations, breathing gently as their lips unstick. the bath steam feels like it's fogging the surface of his eyeballs or something, everything is pleasantly foggy.] No. I think I should stay sober, for when your hangover starts kicking in.

[kavinsky bumps his forehead against murphy's then, not hard enough to bounce murphy's head away. he stays near enough that murphy's prodigious beezer winds up bent gently against his cheek and he can see the shiny pink rims of his eyelids and the individual lashes arrayed in orderly sequence. murphy is pretty. maybe he's also selfish and greedy and would do anything to survive too, but those traits are less pronounced in a world with running water and plenty to eat. no competition, apart from gay facetwin drama.

but he straightens and plucks the wine bottle from murphy's hand.] C'mon.

[he scoots back, sloshing, butt rubbing ceramic audibly.] Sit on my lap, I'll feed you grapes in fermented liquid form. Better than being fanned by palm fronds. Hear out some more exhibit ideas.

[ that is probably a good idea, because murphy's drinking is sure to come back on him any moment now, and it probably was already not the best idea to pass out in a bath tub drunk to begin with. murphy scoots as prompted, picking himself to turn around in kavinsky's lap, pert butt dropped in his lap (able to feel k's dick against his ass cheeks, though neither of them are particularly hard at the moment (maybe murphy's half there), there's still something exciting in that).

a sigh leaves him, as he leans back, shoulder blades to k's chest, and his head lolling back to pillow on half on kavinsky's shoulder and half on the rim of the jacuzzi behind him. ] Can't do both? Grapes and palm fronds? Luxury my ass.

[ which is a joke, murphy smiling lazily, as he turns to press a kiss to the side of kavinsky's face, settling in all warm and comfy, like a little puppy curling up in their bed. with widdle pupy paws, now reaching for one of k's hands, tracing his fingers, and the inked lines decorating the backs of his hands. ]

You already think of a new one? Besides the Insider's View of Joseph Kavinsky.

[k's dick is definitely not as excited as it should be at the promised land, but it likes being there, nudged up and half-afloat up in the tender peach cleft of murphy's bottom. the bones of his hips aren't quite as pointy and uncomfortable as they might have been once, providing murphy with a halfway ergonomic throne. it includes a seatbelt: kavinsky's arm looping around his belly. also reclining features: kavinsky leans back, taking the other boy with him.

and then pokes his mouth with the wine bottle, that he might take a mouthful from the steam-fogged glass. kavinsky's careful: he doesn't bang murphy's lip or clack his tooth against the rim.] Yeah I got an idea. Actually I already got one in the works for you to check out next weekend, [and he goes snuffling the back of murphy's neck, then. moving the damp locks of hair with his nose, smelling mild traces of yesterday at the base of his scalp.] But after that, just some ideas.

I was thinking about reforesting some shit. John Murphy bush. [his fingers dip south, giving the curls of murphy's nethers, just below his belly button, a friendly scramble.] Or communications tech, maybe.

Already? [ Murphy asks him, words half muffled by the bottle at his lips, the teenager taking a long swig from it. Underaged or not, he's well practiced in getting shitfaced, and he likes the care in Kavinsky helping him. He likes all of Kavinsky right now, the cozy slope of him, the hand over his naked belly, the nose pushing at his hairline.

It's a little silly, how contented he feels. Doted on, maybe, but more than that, comfortable. At peace, in a strange way. K is this intriguing, beautiful thing that draws his attention constantly, and being the center of his is rewarding in a wonderful way. His fingertips rummage around between his legs, and Murphy snorts, turning his head back to bump against k's. ]

All of America doesn't need to be introduced to my pubes, dork. [ but feel free to keep feeling around there, he clearly doesn't mind. ] Go for comms tech. Maybe give us a new program.

Comms tech, [kavinsky repeats, walking his fingers around the wild safari lands of murphy's lower belly. east to west. south. the march turns more careful on the ~~slender~~ bar of his cock, a gentle tug that breaks ripples away from kavinsky's wrist half-submerged in the water.] Sounds like code for porn. Ffft. [that lattermost syllable is actually just a gust of air, blown out between kavinsky's teeth, lifting goosebumps out of the little pores on the back of murphy's neck.]

Emergency system? Heroes might like that. GPS hot-button. [in what might be a bad move, he releases murphys cock the next moment, and presents him with the wine bottle instead. as soon as the other boy takes it, he reaching over his shoulder to take a bottle of shampoo instead. squirt squirt. blue gel wells up in kavinsky's hand, and he claps it gently over the top of murphy's head. immediately, the chemical syrup starts to soak through the strands of his hair, down toward his scalp. gotta delay boners until murphy is more drunk, you see. save face! save dubiously labeled relationships.]

Villains too, probably. [lightly, as he draws tattooed digits up the side of murphy's head.] Or: porn.

[ for the few, short strokes kavinsky gives him, murphy lets out a pleased little hum, melting more against the chest behind him, head turning to tuck his nose against k's tattooed neck. even brief, it's a nice sensation, and murphy's maybe a little too wasted to do too much more. still, he manages a pout, lips parting to drag his teeth over k's pulse point, before pausing to think on the options. ]

The more altruistic, less confrontational, route would probably be porn, honestly. Who doesn't love porn? That isn't a liar, anyway. [ everyone likes getting off, and there's no real way to abuse that. no villians showing up at ground zero of a crisis to make it worse. then again, not a lot of people are going to openly admit to porn being innovative. murphy sips at the wine like a baby bottle, and tilts his head back, eyes closed as k scrubs at his hair, thinking the prospect over. ]

But if you're trying to veer away from the Fuckups & Tryhards appearance, GPS hot-button would be more openly appreciated. [ but, the risk of fuckery going down. even shit faced, murphy can have a decent idea now and again. ] Maybe something for healers. Call a medic to your spot? Send photos of injuries? ImPort Assist?

[it's true. murphy has some good ideas, and not just about ripping people off either, even if probably on some level this type of rebranding deception has some eerie similarities. there is a distinct smile forming on kavinsky's face behind murphy's head. he likes this. he likes that murphy was paying attention. as a general rule, kavinsky likes the attention; it's always a precarious balance, between getting enough and having people up in his secrets.

this here is a nice medium.] Creepy, [he says. he manages, somehow, not to make a porn joke about greenstick breaks and contusion patterns. one thing dr. chilton's school for lost boys does do for you is reduce impulsively talking about what'll get you hard hurr hurr] But I can see them eating that shit up with a spoon.

[scrunch scrunch. he's working up a good lather in his fingers, pausing to swing a hand around and scrape away some of the foam threatening to leak into murphy's eyes.] And since just do-gooder nerds who'd be interested in that, most of them are Registered. If it wouldn't cause a problem, what I'd really do is make us our own Porters. Government could eat my ass.

[ murphy happily sits still in k's lap, head leaned back and bottle clutched to his chest, eyes closed as the enjoys the fingertips scrubbing at his scalp, the smell of the expensive mini-bottled hotel shampoo, and the sound of kavinsky's voice. he likes this, plotting together. one of the few things he's good at - playing a good con - and he likes that k's taking an interest in his input. or, at least, humoring it. ]

Just throw in some shtick about wanting to make up for the people you hurt. [ a beat, and his face scrunches up, half because of the hand scraping foam away from his eyes, and half in distaste at that suggestion, before he amends it. ] Maybe not. Sounds like trying too hard. Make it just a little more selfish, like... wanna do something you can be proud of.

[ there, that works. self-improvement is all about self-reflection, and no one would believe kavinsky is doing something purely out of guilt alone. he's too egotistical for it. the mention of an extra porter, though, has him turning to look over his soap-sudsy shoulder, brows lifted, excitement in his voice. ]

That would make fucking bank, K. Trying to get around the cities without being Registered is a bitch. [ an annoying, tedious bitch. ] Just a teleportation pad you can charge like a dollar for, like a subway, not like it costs you anything to dream it up, right? Get all the paranoid Unsettleds on your side.

[murphy twists around to look at him, and kavinsky raises his arm. presses his wrist to his forehead, nudges it up, squeedgeeing away the residual risk of stinging soap suds. he peers into the other boy's eyes under it, his own still crinkled. maybe this is what being happy used to feel like, before he replaced it with lust and cocaine. being fucking impressive. colluding.

he's never seen murphy look this excited about anything, besides maybe touching him. which is also a nice comparison to think about, staving off the nasty reminders posed by ronan's rejection, the perpetual suspicions about murphy's secret man ass desires. kavinsky smooths a handful of dark hair back, slicking white foam with it.]

Thought you didn't give a shit about money. This sounds different, [then he pinches the tip of murphy's chin. a palm and a forefinger, sculpting a fizzy white beard on his head. then, abruptly, he stuffs his face into the side of murphy's face, a gesture that is both questing, and promises to come away with half the bubble beard on k's jaw if murphy does what he's supposed to.] Why you change your tone, baby?

[ murphy's drunk enough that the eyeroll he responds with is not subtle or concealed in the least, complete with dramatic sigh, and a shove of his shoulder against kavinsky's. he's barely even known the benefits of having currency to his name for a few months, and most of what he has he hasn't even found ways to spend. it dissolves into another giggle fit, k burrowing into the side of his face, and murphy pushing back against him so the bubbles are thoroughly shared. ]

I don't, [ said through snickers, once he's able to pull back enough to make his statement. ] But you do if you wanna make anyone believe you're getting hotels like this and clothes like that legitimately.

[ head jerked to the side to motion to the button up and slacks on the bathroom floor. the masses don't tend to look well on theft, and now that everyone knows what his powers are, it's easy to make the next step to "dream up tons of cash". pulling back, he bops his forehead against kavinsky's, nose bumping and sharing some soap suds. ]

What I care about is helping you sell that lie, and getting to do this in the mean time. [ this, being, silly drunken bubble baths and kisses and other stuff. ]

[there's something a little hyena about the laugh on kavinsky's face then, a throwback to simpler times. when a smile from a handsome brown-haired boys with big noses and wide, strange eyes was all it took to make good pretend that everything was all right, and the promise of a kiss would drive him to self-immolating madness.

he's not quite like that anymore. a little less dependent on external validation, but still

he does enjoy himself a pretty boy with a hole in his soul.] You're a teenager, [kavinsky says,] you should know that care is a dirty word. [his next kiss tastes unpleasantly soapy, astringent, but that's beside the point, probably, his tattooed hands wandering over murphy's soap-slick body. floating him-- no pun intended, turning him in the water, foam sloshing dramatically on all sides, and then kavinsky's levering himself up onto murphy, pushing him down, affording murphy two seconds to close his eyes, hold his breath, five seconds to kiss him in the dim, gravity-free, underwater universe beneath the bubbles.

the quiet broken only by the squeak of kavinsky's fingers popping up the drain.

they come up for air, after that. water in their eyes, water in the wine, water bubbling out of their laughs even as kavinsky gets the shower going, to rinse off the suds, and maybe drown murphy, which is what would happen if kavinsky didn't keep giving him intervals of mouth-to-mouth, his nose to murphy's cheek, and head blocking the white-out fall of water.]

[ murphy sinks back, but now without fingers clutches around kavinsky's bicep, the vague terrors and paranoias of being drowned, hurt by someone he'd been dumb enough to care for again, slipping around inside his drunken head. as he gets shorter on oxygen, the fingers tense, squeezing, but kavinsky sinks in with enough time to breathe him some more.

it seems like a weird, kind of sexy, trust fall, and murphy's not sure how to feel about that.

they rinse the suds off, murphy tries to scrub at kavinsky's hair, ends up finishing the rest of the wine bottle (accidental overpouring of shower water and all), and despite what thoughts he may have had for more sensual endings, after bundling up in towels and fluffy hotel robes, and waltzing themselves to sprawl out on the plush king sized bed, murphy ends up snoozing away before anything else.

he'll likely apologize tomorrow morning, but for the rest of the night, kavinsky will have to maneuver the skinny pile of apocalypse boy passed out against his chest around, to find himself a comfortable place to sleep. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

1O 👶 IN MY ROOM THERE'S A KING-SIZED SPACE

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almost typoed the sc- out of scrape

fdsjfkldsa oh no

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fade-ish!

just a wrap up thing!!