28 👶 HEARTBREAK MULTIPLIES [closed]

[pillz]

WHO: Joseph Kavinsky & 'friends' ig
WHERE: De Chima, Maurtia Falls, etc.
WHEN: October 2019
WHAT: Catch-all for October, hmu on Plurk @ shramp if you would like to play!
WARNINGS: Possible violence, sexual content, offensive language (racism, sexism, etc.)



closed to kylo ren;

[it's breakfast at the meadows, for those of us who may periodically eat breakfast. and kavinsky is here. it's the first time anyone has seen him back at the meadows after the explosive encounter with murphy last month, but it was probably inevitable that that reprieve would end. kylo ren no doubt feels it in the force long before he makes his way down the steps.

the dream thief is sitting at the table, neglecting a cup of coffee by his hand.] We gotta stop meeting like this, [kavinsky says, almost as if nothing had happened. but this is actually just how he is after things have happened. there's a brief death threats phase, then a violent overreaction phase, then an eerie approximation of indifference phase, and not always in that order or single iteration. he scratches his neck, studying kylo ren out from under heavy eyelids.]

Hey. Hey, how you feel about chopping some wood topless today? Paparazzi would love it. Not gonna lie, I could use the cash.

closed to ronan;

[the joseph kavinsky apology tour of october 2019 starts how you'd expect. on the first day of october, the words,

my bad 😔
can be found spraypainted on the outside of the meadows house in lurid green paint, while smelling eerily like blood, yet fading away politely as the sun makes its way up and down the sky. on the second day of october, the icepack that had been rendered to k's use is replaced in the fridge, and there are irish mince pies too, as well as an automated robotic lawnmower swerving dangerously close to killing the family of voles in the yard outside. on the third day, kavinsky texts.]

come hang out 2day

closed to cassidy;

I wanted to say thanks for letting me stay. [kavinsky seems more normal now. i mean he's never been normal, and cassidy only met him after he began a life of crimes you can get the electric chair for, some parts of the world back home. but a couple weeks ago, when he slept on the couch with a face like an overripe melon attacked by a hacksaw, he'd seemed full of spiky, humming, hideous energy, a wasp hive in a human skinsuit.

but today, he's more like his usual self. healed, obviously. smug and slightly subhuman, cleaned up nicely outside that hints heavily as to the dirt in his soul. and grinning big, boyish when the vampire comes to the door. he seizes cassidy by the hand.] C'mon.

closed to rupert;

[2am at the club, maurtia falls. which club? a club. kavinsky generally just rolls up to the first place with valet and a long enough line out front to look intimidating, flashes his import id, and that's enough to get himself in, even in absence of a cis lady figure.

in reality, kavinsky drinks and does far fewer drugs than he used to, and being at the club is a new kind of high. well, an old one. one that actually predated the drinking and the drugging, but enhanced it. kavinsky actually likes being around people, much as he hates everything including people. he likes how people are hungry, needy, exploitable, fun. he likes the validation of his admirers, the pain of his critics, the rush of conquest any time he breaks someone to his will, even if it's something as stupid as bumping into someone on the sidealk without apologizing.

which he does now. but dr. chilton raised him better than that, and the next moment, he's setting his sights on the neon door at the end of the velvet ropes. he starts toward it, slinging the key fob for his black jaguar into the hands of the valet man along with a fat tip (also credit to: dr. c). he doesn't notice the other young import pausing by the roadside.]

Comments

ffwing a bit, lmk if not ok (tw suicidal ideation)

[pillz]

[out of the dark, the concrete barrier, the overpass' edge, roars into view. looks ghostly grey in the headlights, like the finish line to life itself. of course, right before the flat ribbon that it presents, there are marks on the road, swerving off to the side, indicating clearly that this wall was not meant to be driven into.

and yet.

and fuckin' yet.

(kavinsky does think about it sometimes, you know. being alive always seemed like a whole fucking shitton of work. the fucking tedium. the commitment. fleeting moments, instants, burning-bright experiences that then fade away-- those he can do. but it's in those between moments, often when he is alone, usually if he is bored or has too much time to wonder, or remember, or observe himself, that he questions it. what's the fucking point?)

(used to be, if you got to the finish line prematurely, you were done. it was over. you were dead, and the sleep would never leave you but the dreams were finally gone.)

(but that's not how it works here, is it?)]

Well shit, [kavinsky remarks, once they're close enough that it's too late at this speed for a turn to save them. he's made his cars go sideways any hundreds of times. he once did it then saved ronan lynch's life, even. you learn how it works; how fast you can go before the threshold of the turn won't save you. so there's actually a pretty fair distance -- of a couple of seconds, anyway, between the point of no return and the moment of actual collision.

he glances over at the other young man, with his handesome profile, his dilated pupils, his open trousers and half-denuded dick. he smiles.

snap.


and the next instant, there's a wall cool against rupert's back, catching him as his body drops a few inches through empty air, remembering that the last thing he had been doing was sitting down. a hand still on his dick, the skinny young creature beside him in a crouch. music is playing, somewhere. not the heavy drub-a-drub cacophony of club sounds, but some elegant piano-key arpeggios.]

[leatherboots]

[ Somewhere between the point of no return and the impact with the crash barrier that never comes, Rupert knows that this is a terrible, terrible idea. Contrary to his hobbies (playing with sharp objects) and habits (playing with sharp people) Rupert doesn't actually want to die. Death would be a great adventure, so he'd heard, but the risk that he might not return - that he might be banished back to his home century - is too much. At that point he knows it's not too late, he can rip a portal and save them both (and lose the game) albeit with a bumpy landing; he throws a hand forward, clutching at thin air like a man in the throes of a heart attack, and briefly the world between the car's nose and the crash barrier changes --

A brief, fleeting window into a moonlit desert is ripped away as the pair of them tumble into elsewhere; the comforting embrace of leather at his back becomes a cold, unforgiving wall and a hard impact against a damp sidewalk. Rupert's hands clutch the brickwork either side of him, his face white with surprise and bated breath, and he sags a little against it as he gets his bearings. And somehow Kavinsky still has a hand on his cock (harder now for the life-saving rush of their narrow brush with death). That's skill. Rupert has to admire that. ]

God! You could have ripped my cock off, [ He gasps with a laugh as his heart hammers wildly against his bones. It's only a half-hearted accusation; he'd asked him to keep a hold of him so that was mostly Rupert's mistake, but still. Still. ]

[pillz]

[kavinsky's heart is hammering too. oh god oh god, his heart says. what the fuck is wrong with you.

(this is probably why he gives it to clotho, in the end. who needs that sort of equivocation.)]

Come on, man. I know it was dark, but I knew it was too pretty to to fuckin' rip it off. [kavinsky grins at the other man, bright as a knife in moonlight. by now, the smell of tropical orchids and seasalt are beginning to roll in; your classique luxury hotel bouquet of fragrances, precisely because it is, indeed, a classique luxury hotel. the likes of which are not normally prone to having feckless young men grope each other in the darker corners of their nonetheless public spaces.

kavinsky doesn't care. he's puzzling apart the concatenation of events of the last forty seconds, mulling over that brief flash of desert. his eyes shift to rupert, deducing. recognizing. realizing.

triumph breaks a white, boyish smile over his face.

which rupert gets to see up close and personal, in all its brilliant, enameled glory, when the dream thief straightens swerves close. tucks his skinny hip in between rupert's thighs, his grip tightening briefly on the other man's sex. his forehead touches down on rupert's, gently punting, pinning the back of the other young man's head into the wall behind him.] I won, [he says, very clearly.] I dunno what the fuck you did, but you did something. And you did it before I tried.

[leatherboots]

[ Caught! Damn. It was too much to expect that this boy, fierce and sharp as a knife, hadn't noticed. Rupert allows him his triumph and his needling smile, and bunches both hands into his nice shirt as Kavinsky swoops over and onto him. The hands make fists, bracing and holding close, half-poised to shove away if he needs to. There's a moment where Rupert isn't sure if this is going to descend into a fight or a fuck but he's ready for either; he can take this boy no matter which side of the knife-edge they land. ]

Actually, no, [ Rupert insists with a glittering smile and lets his eyes drop pointedly down between them with a breathless laugh; he lifts his hips lewdly in a rough, artless thrust against that hand around his cock. ] I'm still rather sure that I've won.

[ Which... isn't addressing the fact that he absolutely did do something before Kavinsky whisked them away. But Rupert has zero inclination to deepdive into his death issues right now, not when there's a more important question on his mind: ]

Now are you going to suck it or not?

[ It's a steely whisper, a challenge veiled in the illusion of choice. And yes, sure, they're in a semipublic space. But that definitely hasn't ever put Rupert off before and it's all part of the challenge, isn't it? And he knows that his Jaguar friend does so like a challenge; he had known this boy was good for it - up for it, even - the moment he kissed those drugs into him. That's a mouth that's built for doing more than just laughing and spitting obscenities. ]

nsfw getting nsfwer

[pillz]

[rupert's breath is hot on his mouth. when you do less drugs, your tolerance goes down, and kavinsky used to do a lot of drugs. he can blame them, probably, for the acquiescence that suddenly seems ffffun. beguiling. it's a conquest he's taken pride in before, getting his mouth on a guy's dong, having that control as his partner went to wet pieces on his tongue.]

You're a shitty date, [he whispers back.

but he jerks rupert's trousers down four inches, and then he slides himself down on his knees. the sleek floor meets his bones with a mild shock of percussion, not enough to hurt. and then he gets to sucking.

and he inevitably makes a game out of the pace. the rhythm to start with is ordinary gratification: fast enough to pump rupert's dick stiff and red, sucked down hard with spit layering rubber over the fat rim of his lip, and then faster. a jagged pace jolting deep down the stem of rupert's cock, to maybe even alarm the young man above him that there wouldn't be an arc to this at all, but then -- abruptly and appropos to nothing, he slows down. s l o

  o  o w

ly now, his lips scooping a wet, squishing vacuum down the surface of rupert's cock, lewdly audible and unmistakably leisurely. all too obvious now, in the cleanly quiet of the corridor.]

all nsfw all the time

[leatherboots]

[ Hentzau watches in rapt attention as his cock is swallowed up with alarming enthusiasm with a pleased noise that's far too loud for their semipublic corridor - not that Rupert cares who might hear or see them. He's sure he can hear footsteps in the corridors above them but, fuck it, any bystanders will just have to start a queue.

But then - then Kavinsky changes pace, dropping down a gear, and Rupert sighs an open-mouthed aahhh of pleasure and frustration; fast was good, impatient was good, but god he could learn to love disgustingly slow and thorough too. He's being toyed with, he's sure of it, and the spasm of his hips, the jerking stab of his cock, silently demanding a faster, harder pace, is only half-hearted. Because, good God: ]

That's good -- [ The words are gasped, stuttered between breaths as he grins distractedly down at the impossibly lewd scene before him. But even Rupert knows that not everyone likes being told what a disgustingly wanton sight they look with their mouth full of gleaming wet cock, so Rupert distractedly asks in thinly-veneered politeness: ]

Would you like me -- ahh, Christ -- would you like me to tell you exactly how good-?

[pillz]

[kavinsky encounters a problem about fifty seconds into this process. which is that his own dick starts to rear up to attention with almost painful verve. why? maybe it's the control. that's a nice notion. very ego-syntonic. he can play rupert like a fucking fiddle from down here, laughing so that the obscene vibration at the back of his throat goes into the head of rupert's cock, and sliding his tongue right down to the curly strings.

he pulls his mouth off the sex in question with a funny wet pop. smiles like a fox at the henhouse.] Sure, [he says.] Why don't you tell me all about it, sweetheart?

[he places a nonchalant hand over his own raging, ostentatious hard-on. slides his knees a little further apart, for traction, and shifts himself up. slides the fingers of his free hand over the clammy mess he's made of rupert's shaft now, and then tucks his nose under the base of it, nuzzling a nonchalant kiss in the soft, fuzzy cleft between rupert's balls as the chill air of the hotel chills the spit on the now-neglected head of rupert's cock, just a little. making fun.]

[leatherboots]

[ Sweetheart. He'd said it before now and Rupert hadn't paid it any mind but now it strikes him as incongruously personal for this highly impersonal adventure. Or simply a little bit condescending. Either way, he likes it, this thin veneer of intimacy in the middle of a public corridor. He grins hazily down at the boy with his head at his groin, one hand reaching to smoothly run calloused fingerpads through Kavinsky's hair.

But Hentzau is too impatient for teasing. Kavinsky's generous blowjob skills are completely wasted on Rupert, a man of simple needs. The lavish attention being bestowed around his cock but not quite on his cock is nice, but ultimately not getting the job at hand done. The fingers in Kavinsky's short hair turn impatient as he twists strands in a sharp remonstration. ]

Get your prick out if you like, [ He murmurs silkily. If they're running the risk of being caught then they might as well make the most of it and both be done for indecent exposure. ] But don't you dare stop sucking on mine.