party at mine
Three words. Ronan had glanced at his phone about fourteen times, reading and rereading the text, wondering if he was going, if he even wanted to go. He knew about Kavinsky's parties, everyone did. More often than not there were a couple fights, usually involving Kavinsky himself. Of course there would be booze, copious amounts of drugs, girls, boys, cars, fire…
Ronan felt his heart begin to race. He was so bored, and he wasn't feeling low enough to drink alone. He sniffed his armpit. He needed a shower.
As the cool water slid over his body, Ronan's mind drifted to Kavinsky. The kid had been hounding him for almost a year now. He seemed to be at every stoplight, revving his engine, challenging Ronan. He always had those stupid fucking glasses on. Ronan couldn't remember if he had ever actually seen his eyes. He always looked completely nonchalant, and even Ronan's murderous glares couldn't shake that smirk from his lips.
His mind wandered to thoughts of what else those lips could do, or had done. He felt something jolt in the pit of his stomach. Shame quickly crept up his chest and neck at the thought of Kavinsky's lips on his body. He felt his blood rush and boil in places he didn't want to associate with that boy. Ronan stuck his head under the water, holding his breath, turning the knob to hell-has-fucking-frozen-over cold. He stood there, hands braced against the shower's walls, shivering, until the fire in his veins had flowed down the drain with the rest of the water.
He towel-dried his body, making sure not to let his mind wander, and instead focusing intensely on each task at hand. Pulling a black tank top over his head. Slipping on his jeans. Shoes. Keys. Drive.
Ronan could feel the bass from the party vibrating through his car from down the block. He pulled up and was met with pure anarchy. The house was huge. Ronan had driven by it several times, and it always looked pristine. Two impossibly tall columns framed the front door, Spanish tile roof, a fountain with a woman pouring water from a jug, brass gates. It was gaudy and screamed new money and so completely not Kavinsky.
But not that night. That night, the fountain glowed with neon lights, the woman missing her jug and an arm. Dicks and profanities were drawn in glow-in-the-dark ink all over her form. There were teenagers entangled and strewn across the front lawn, with others throwing up or passed out.
Inside, the house smelled of pot, sex and booze. Ronan wrinkled his nose in disgust. There walls were covered in graffiti. Shattered glass littered the ground. Bodies were pressed together, dancing to some rap song. He couldn't tell where one person ended and another began. He searched for the bar.
Ronan wove through the room, trying very hard to touch as few people as possible, though that proved impossible. The room was huge, open, and probably had the capacity to seat about a hundred people comfortably. There was at least three times that number writhing in there. People tugged at him, one girl fondling his ass as he passed by.
Along the far wall was the bar, probably a thing of beauty at some point, with leather cushion bar stools and lacquered wood and marble and all that fancy shit Ronan had seen in other posh houses, including his own. There was a topless girl laid out on the counter, three guys sipping shots of clear liquid from various orifices on her body. He maneuvered around them, grabbing the nearest bottle of whisky, unopened, and took a hard swig. He definitely needed to be inebriated to even entertain the possibility of enjoying this fuck fest.
The alcohol burned going down, warming his body, even though it was already a sauna in there. His eyes roamed the room, seemingly searching for nothing until they locked on mirrored sunglasses. Kavinsky was leaning against the wall, probably fifteen feet away from Ronan. He was making out with some bottle blonde, hands clenched around her ass. He watched as her mouth shifted from Kavinsky's lips to his neck, and then the glasses locked onto him. He couldn't see his eyes, but he knew, he could feel the pupils he had never seen burning through his body. He knew he should look away, but he was trapped. Kavinsky's lips quirked up into a smile as he pulled the blonde off him, turning her around so that her back was pressed against his chest. One hand gripped her chest, fondling her over her shirt. The other slipped down the front of her pants. Kavinsky never shifted his gaze from Ronan. He wanted him to watch.
Ronan felt his jeans tighten. He pulled a joint from the fingers of some guy nearby, taking a long drag. Then he closed his eyes and took another swig of whisky, downing a quarter of the bottle in one go. When he opened them again, Kavinsky was gone, the blonde hanging on some other douchebag. He wondered if he had imagined the whole thing.
Ronan shook his head out, trying to calm his body. An arm draped around his shoulders.
"Drink up, Lynch." He recognized the voice shouting in his ear. Prokopenko. It was weird to see him with out Kavinsky. He held in his hand a glass filled to the brim with radioactive-green liquid.
"Proko." His lips moved, but the word couldn't be heard over the thumping bass.
"Come on, it's a party. Loosen up." Ronan took the glass from his hand and downed its contents, knowing fully well that it was enough to induce a coma in a less experienced drinker. Gansey would have a fucking fit.
When he finished, he pushed Prokopenko off him, his fist connecting with the boy's jaw.
"Don't ever fucking touch me again." His voice was low and dangerous, and while Prokopenko probably didn't hear what he said, the look on Ronan's voice was more than enough to send the message for him.
Prokopenko clutched his mouth, blood staining his fingers. His eyes seethed, but he didn't retaliate.
"You're lucky Kavinsky's a fan, otherwise I'd chop your dick off for that one."
Ronan rolled his eyes. Prokopenko was empty threats and feigned toughness. He was a puppy, a lapdog, a whipping boy. Spineless and weak. Ronan walked away, feeling his body sway as the absinthe Proko had given him began to take hold of his inhibitions. He heard a chuckle behind him.
"Have fun, Lynch."
He didn't know how much time had passed when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He hadn't seen Kavinsky since the staring contest over the blonde. Several girls had tried to chat him up, clearly emboldened by the cocktail of drugs and booze coursing through their systems. Ronan was fully aware that his face said 'fuck off', but that didn't seem to faze them. But he just wasn't interested in any of them. He didn't know what he was interested in. Or at least, he would never admit to himself what he was interested in, no matter how many times he found himself scanning the crowd, searching for a boy wearing a self-satisfied smirk and low-slung jeans.
cum upstairs for the real party
Against his better judgment, he headed upstairs, not really sure what he was getting himself into. The only thing certain about Kavinsky was that he always lead to trouble. But trouble was exactly what Ronan needed. Every door on the second floor was closed except for the first one, which was opened a sliver. Ronan nudged it open further.
Kavinsky sat on a bed, head thrown back and staring at the ceiling. Or sleeping. Ronan couldn't be sure because he still had those goddamn glasses on. He allowed himself a moment to look at the boy, eyes trailing down his neck, prone and exposed, his chest, sheathed in a white tank top, tight and clinging to every muscle, every tendon. His chest rose and fell and-
-was partially obscured by the curly brunette head bobbing over his crotch. Ronan felt his lip begin to curl in disgust and turned away, a hurricane of annoying emotions raging inside him.
"I can get her to do you too." Ronan froze, heat creeping up into his face at being caught. He had hoped to slip away silently because he didn't want to face the barrage of teasing and insults that would surely follow. He looked over his shoulder, but the girl showed no indication that she had heard Kavinsky's words. He didn't even know if he heard them.
Kavinsky pushed his glasses up on top of his head, gazing at Ronan through narrowed eyes. If he focused only on his face, he couldn't even tell the boy was getting a blowjob. Ronan felt his tongue slip out and lick his lips, though he couldn't remember making the conscious decision to do that. Kavinsky's eyes caught the movement, and his own lips twisted into the most attractive sneer Ronan had ever seen.
Kavinsky pushed the brunette off him, who, to her credit, didn't look the least bit annoyed or confused. She just stalked off like she hadn't just been on her knees, mouth filled to the hilt with cock. She licked her lips as she passed him, brushing her body against him and garnering no reaction. He heard Kavinsky laugh as he tucked himself back in, zipping his pants up.
The room spun for a moment, then settled. Everything seemed hazy and out of focus. He heard the sound of scraping across wood, a quick sniff and a sigh.
"Want a line?"
Ronan vaguely registered that he was moving his head in an attempt to answer, though he couldn't be sure what answer he gave. He wandered across the room, falling back on the bed. He squeezed his eyes closed, hoping to shut out the cloud surrounding his body. He felt the bed collapse under a weight nearby. He could feel the heat radiating off Kavinsky's body, burning his skin. Or maybe he was imagining that too.
"Didn't peg you for a lightweight. Dick's rubbing off on you."
The room was silent for several long minutes, or maybe it was an hour, or maybe just a few seconds. Ronan couldn't really tell anymore.
The faint smell of pot filled his nostrils. He opened his eyes and caught Kavinsky sitting at the foot of the bed, eyes hungry and staring at him, lips wrapped tightly around a joint. He offered it to Ronan, who accepted, taking a long drag while trying to push away the though of Kavinsky's lips.
"Surprised Dick let you out to play. I was starting to think he had you on a leash. But you know, I can be kinky too." Kavinsky took back the pot, blowing distorted rings into the air.
"I don't want to talk about him." His words were surprisingly clear for how cloudy he felt.
Kavinsky reached over him to put out the joint on the nightstand. He was closer than he had to be, his crotch inches from Ronan's face. Ronan held his breath. Kavinsky looked down at him and smirked.
"My eyes are up here, sweetheart."
Ronan shoved Kavinsky off and stormed away from him, but Kavinsky wasn't about to let that happen. The door slammed shut in front of him and Kavinsky pushed Ronan so that his cheek was pressed against the wood. Kavinsky's arms were braced on either side of his head, blocking him in, his chest pressed flush against his back, expanding and contracting with heavy breaths that matched Ronan's. Ronan elbowed Kavinsky in the ribs.
"Get the fuck off me."
"Fucking fucker." Kavinsky grabbed his arm and pinned it behind his back. "Didn't they teach you in Sunday school not to swear." His lips brushed against Ronan's ear, and his voice vibrated through Ronan's body, making him shiver. "Or maybe you enjoy spending all that time on your knees."
He felt him grind his hips into his ass. He was rock solid, and Ronan's jeans couldn't help but tighten in response to the motion. Kavinsky's hand skimmed down the side of Ronan's body, raising goose bumps and hardening nipples in its wake, until it reached around and cupped Ronan, hard, hard enough to blur the line between pain and pleasure. Ronan bucked his hips on pure reflex, which only managed to create more friction between their bodies. Kavinsky squeezed harder, and Ronan couldn't contain the moan that escaped his lips.
"Tell me you don't want it, Lynch." He didn't respond. He wanted it-he wanted it so bad that the thought of Kavinsky's body, sweaty and hovering over his nearly made him explode right then and there. Not that he'd ever admit it to Kavinsky. Not that he'd ever even admit it to himself.
Kavinsky took his silence as an invitation. His hand slipped under the waistband of his underwear and began to stroke his length, pumping slowly as he sucked on the sensitive flesh behind his ear. He didn't know how, but Kavinsky had found his sweet spot, and Ronan nearly came right then and there. His back arched against Kavinsky's chest, who just pressed him harder against the door.
With a sharp tug on his balls, Kavinsky turned Ronan around and pressed their mouths together. The kiss was sloppy, teeth knocking, tongues swirling. He felt Kavinsky's teeth bite down on his lip painfully hard. He pulled back and tasted blood.
"Fucker."
But Kavinsky's lips were already trailing elsewhere, down his jaw and further, sucking and biting his neck. He was marking his territory, leaving bruises on his body, and Ronan didn't even mind. Kavinsky's fingers curled under his black tank top, pulling it up and over his head.
His fingernails clawed down his back, tearing open his flesh. He was devouring him whole and his hands slipped back into his pants, pumping him harder, making Ronan groan into his mouth. There was no warning when he came, his fluids spilling hot and sticky over Kavinsky's hand. His face was burning, but he couldn't tell if it was from shame or satisfaction.
Then Kavinsky did something unexpected. He pulled his hand out and licked his fingers, tasting Ronan, savouring him. The simple act flipped a switch in Ronan, who was suddenly incredibly fucking turned on.
He pushed Kavinsky back onto the bed and crawled on top of him, leaving a trail of bloody kisses along his neck. Kavinsky tugged his own shirt off over his head. It didn't escape Ronan that his left nipple was pierced through with a tiny silver barbell.
"Damn Lynch, I always thought you'd be a little harder to get." Kavinsky laughed.
"Shut the fuck up." He pressed his mouth against Kavinsky's, forcing his tongue into the boy's mouth. His hand slipped up over the boy's stomach, pressing against the solid muscles there, then around to the small of his back. He tugged Kavinsky's hips up to meet his and ground himself against him. Kavinsky murmured a swear against Ronan's lips, and he had to suppress a smile.
Ronan's fingers unbuttoned Kavinsky's pants with ease, slipping them down his thighs and cupping his ass over his tight grey trunks. Kavinsky wasn't laughing anymore.
Ronan's lips wove a pattern down his chest. His teeth found Kavinsky's pebbled nipple, clamping down hard. Kavinsky let out a slew of curses, but his back arched up in a move that screamed pleasure. Ronan's tongue swirled out over the barbell, twisting it in his mouth. He could spend all day teasing Kavinsky, bringing him to the brink of destruction, and it wouldn't compensate for the months of torment he'd been subjected to. But this wasn't about revenge, or at least, not entirely. He wanted him to beg. But he also wanted to be the one to make Kavinsky fall apart.
His lips were marking a path along the Adonis lines leading directly to his destination. His fingers slipped under the waistband, tugging until Kavinsky's cock sprung out and up. For the first time since he walked into the room, he glanced up at Kavinsky's face. His eyes were dark and focused on Ronan, his lips swollen and pink and lacking their usual smirk. His face held a warning.
"Don't start anything you can't finish."
"I'm not the one finishing here." Ronan's lips quirked up into a devilish smirk for just a moment before wrapping themselves around Kavinsky's cock. He let his teeth graze against his length, more to piss him off than anything. He felt Kavinsky's fingers dig into the bag of his head, pushing him down. Ronan suppressed his gag reflex and swallowed him whole, pausing for a moment to grow accustomed to the size. Then he began to move his head slowly up and down the shaft, tongue pressed against it. When Kavinsky moaned his name, Ronan felt himself get hard again.
He began to move faster, lips wrapped around his teeth. His hand stroked the shaft in time with his mouth. He could tell Kavinsky was close. His fingers gripped the back of his head harder, his other hand fisting the sheets. Ronan pulled his lips all the way up the shaft, and swirled his tongue around the head. He looked up at Kavinsky, whose head was thrown back and staring at the ceiling. Kavinsky's teeth dug into his lower lip, probably trying to keep from calling out. He tugged hard on Kavinsky's balls, who in turn bucked his hips up into Ronan's mouth and came without warning, the salty fluid filling his mouth.
"Fuck, Ronan."
Ronan pulled his lips off Kavinsky's cock and spit over the side of the bed, not caring where it landed. He swiped his thumb at the corner of his mouth, wiping it clean, then gripped the gold chain around Kavinsky's neck, pulling him up so they were face to face. He kissed him again, this time biting down on Kavinsky's lip as he pulled back, hard enough to draw blood, mirroring his own injury.
Kavinsky's voice was hoarse when he whispered, "You've got magic lips, princess."