(no subject)

[rockabillyboy]

He takes Kavinsky's hand and draws him towards the green room at the back of the stage. He doesn't stop to talk to him, doesn't tell him that he's got permission to be here, because it's given. It's obvious. Once they're in private, he turns, leaning in and pressing Kavinsky back gently against the wall.

"So," he says, finally finding his voice. "What did you have in mind?"

Comments

[mitsubishievo]

Kavinsky said nothing. He wanted out of his head for a second and this was what he was allowed. A few minutes, a moment, this warm boy and his body pressed up against his, trying to be gentle for the moment. How hard would Kavinsky have to push before the gentleness broke? He shouldn't think of that right now.

He cupped Jack's ears and dragged him in, kissing him soundly, hungrily on the mouth.

[rockabillyboy]

It's a good kiss, a hungry kiss, and Jack leans into it, grinding his hips forward against Kavinsky's, keeping him pinned against the wall. He licks his way into kavinsky's mouth, pushes it as deep as he can.

[mitsubishievo]

Kavinsky groaned softly. His hands slid from Jack's ears, arms draping over his shoulders. He held him close, rocked up to meet his grinding. For a moment, for a minute, this could be it. He pushed out everything else and focused on the boy in his arms and calming his over stimulated brain.

[rockabillyboy]

They wrap around each other, lazily, and the nervous energy from the gig is still thrumming through Jack's veins and he's not sure whether he'd rather be fucking or dancing but he wants something. He shoves one hand up under Kavinsky's shirt so that he can feel his bare skin.

[mitsubishievo]

It would be a quick, easy stumble from the wall to the couch nearby, and maybe that was better. It would save them fumbling and stumbling as their knees shook. Or maybe it was just his that were shaking. He roamed his hands on Jack's chest, rubbed a thumb against his nipple through his shirt.

He pulled back from the kiss, just a bit. "They sore?"

[rockabillyboy]

Jack's breath catches when Kavinsky's fingers just brush against the piercing through his shirt.

"Yeah," he says. "But not in a bad way." He's got a complicated relationship with pain. He's not entirely sure if Kavinsky's worked that out yet.

[mitsubishievo]

Kavinsky brushed again, and again, so lightly but feeling out the shape of the piercings in Jack's nipples. He shivered a little, thinking about what it would feel like to get that done. To have someone play with them after there was metal in his skin.

His cock twitched in his pants. He pushed himself away from the wall and kissed Jack, dragged him by the front of his shirt over to the couch.

[rockabillyboy]

The tease of Kavinsky's fingertips over the piercings under the thin stuff of his shirt makes his breath catch and, when Kavinsky tugs him towards the sofa, he's not sure he's ever been led anywhere so willingly.

[mitsubishievo]

They tumbled onto the couch, too long-limbed, gangly boys, all knees and elbows and hungry, kissing mouths. Kavinsky didn't mind the way they knocked together. It was better, distracting, and he could focus on that: playfulness, teasing, need suffusing their actions.

"God," he breathed, and then just as emphatically, "Fuck."

[rockabillyboy]

"What do you need?" asks Jack, gasps it, tugging Kavinsky in on top of him, pushing his fingers into his hair. "Tell me."

[mitsubishievo]

"Just this," he assured. He adjusted on top of Jack, his chest tight, and kept kissing him. "Just this," he breathed again, and again, between each heavy, heated kiss, until his hands were starting to shake a little bit.

[rockabillyboy]

Jack notices the trembling in Kavinsky's hands and he reaches or them, threading their fingers together, pushing one over Kavinsky's head, against the arm of the sofa, as they kiss, as they grind against each other.

[mitsubishievo]

It was just enough grounding, just enough rough, that Kavinsky focused in. He groaned and squirmed, scraping his teeth on Jack's mouth, pressing up to meet him. This, just like this, was good. He kept his eyes closed and breathed in the smell of Jack's skin and wanted, so badly, to leave marks on him. He coasted his free hand on Jack's chest, heavier than before, teasing a nipple.

[rockabillyboy]

Jack groans at the rougher touch of Kavinsky's fingers over his pierced nipple. He bites his lip, squeezing Kavinsky's fingers.

"You can do what you want," he says, blanket permission. He's finding that he has so few limits.

[mitsubishievo]

"I am," Kavinsky murmured. His eyes were squeezed tight shut, his fingers twisted around Jack's as he held him close. He kept rubbing, nudging at Jack's nipple, listening to the hitch and rattle in his breathing for a moment before he move his attention to the other one, and back.

He was suddenly very aware of how hard he was, and he reeled himself in a little, trying to control himself.

[rockabillyboy]

"Do you want me to get you off?" asks Jack, his voice a hot breath against Kavinsky's skin as Kavinsky plays with his nipples, as he squirms. "Want me to suck your cock?"

[mitsubishievo]

He did. Ridiculously. His body lurched and sang, that swooping, reeling feeling in his chest. A shiver worked through him and he tilted his head back. Yes, he wanted that.

But.

"Only asked about making out," he mumbled sort of vaguely. He kept his head tipped back against the edge of the sofa. It was hard to focus on why he shouldn't when all he wanted was for it to happen.

[rockabillyboy]

Jack makes a strangled, frustrated sound and buries his face against Kavinsky's shoulder. He's achingly aware of how hard his cock is right then.

"Fuck."

[mitsubishievo]

The noise lanced through Kavinsky, sent him shivering all over again. Would it have been so wrong to let the other boy have what he wanted? Kavinsky wanted it too. Would it be bending the rules if he got Jack off?

He lifted his hand from Jack's chest to bury in his hair. "Sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry, I should've asked for..."

[rockabillyboy]

"What if..." Jack's hand skims lower, cupping the hard line of Kavinsky's cock through his jeans, squeezing. "What if I just made you come in your pants? That could so easily be an accident, K."

[mitsubishievo]

Kavinsky's breath stuttered, skittered. He shifted his hips, desperate for the touch, the weight and heat of Jack's hand through the heavy cotton of his jeans.

"Should be offering that," he said, swallowing as he tilted his chin back down and looked at Jack with heavy, datk eyes. "I could still ask."

[rockabillyboy]

"You want to call him and ask?" asks Jack, kissing along Kavinsky's jaw, down under and along his neck.

[mitsubishievo]

The kisses were a distraction, but a soft one, not nearly as distracting as the sense of his pulse thumping in his cock. He pulled his phone out but didn't use it just yet.

"What if he says no?" Something about asking that plucked close to more important words he wanted, needed to say at some point.

His mouth ran away from him. "Poison'd be more than happy, I bet."

[rockabillyboy]

"He already said yes," says Jack, squeezing Kavinsky's hard-on again. "As long as I'm back in an hour."

[mitsubishievo]

Now he was squirming a little bit. That hadn't been his point at all; he knew Poison had said yes, or they wouldn't be here.

Why couldn't he just keep himself to himself?

He shrugged out of his jacket, doing his best to jot disturb Jack on top of him, and when he was just down to his tshirt, he dialed Newt's number to check in.