Actions

Work Header

Like Young Volcanoes

Work Text:

Ronan can't sleep.

To be honest, he isn't sure he even wants to.

There's a bottle of whiskey under his bed, but he doesn't want to tap it tonight. Not alone in his room, trying to keep quiet so Gansey doesn't hear; not when he's got even odds for just drinking until he passes out and has even more fucked-up dreams.

Fortunately he has practice sneaking out past Gansey; creeping past his model of Henrietta without knocking over St. Agnes's or the gas station, and down the creaking stairs of Monmouth Manufacturing. He doesn't bother taking the BMW to Morton's - despite what Gansey and Adam might think, he doesn't have a death wish.

The night is warm enough that Ronan doesn't mind the walk; the grass on the side of the road and the occasional passing car are easier to look at than the dark ceiling of his bedroom.

It's easy to walk into Morton's and order a double Jameson on the rocks. His fake is one of the best in town, thanks to the Russian, and it's not like it's the kind of place frequented by Aglionby faculty, or the kind that wants to turn down Aglionby money.

Ronan grabs an empty table and glares at anyone who looks like they might try to strike up a conversation. He didn't want to drink alone in his room; that doesn't mean he wants to talk to the losers that hang out here. So he's pissed when someone slams into the back of his chair, spilling half of his drink across the table.

"What the fuck?" he says, turning to confront whoever just wasted it. He's trying to keep a low profile here. No matter how good the fake is, the bartenders tend to frown on people coming back for another double less than five minutes after the first.

Kavinsky glances back over his shoulder. "Sorry, Lynch, didn't see you there."

He's full of shit like always, and Ronan's hand curls into a fist reflexively at the sight of that smirk. It's weird, then, when Kavinsky flicks his eyes down over the rest of Ronan, and the rush of pre-fight adrenaline shifts so suddenly it makes him light-headed.

"Does Dick know you're here alone?" Kavinsky asks as he strolls back to Ronan's table.

"He's not. I do what I want," Ronan bites back.

"I bet you do."

Kavinsky's lazy grin is infuriating, even more so when he slaps Ronan on the shoulder and turns the opposite direction he'd been headed before. Ronan stares after him and watches the scarred bathroom door swing shut behind him.

He finishes his drink in one sip - as though there's enough in the glass to blame for what he's about to do - and follows him in.

Kavinsky's leaning against the stall of the only toilet. Ronan thinks there might be a chip of the peeling green paint on his shoulder. "You're quicker than I thought," he says, backing into the stall.

"I'm not -"

"Whatever," Kavinsky cuts him off, and drags him in.

With the door clanging shut behind him and Kavinsky crowding him against it, Ronan should feel trapped, but there're more pressing concerns at the moment.

He's tried so hard not to think about this. It hasn't been easy, but it's been easier lately, since one of his roommates is apparently a ghost and Adam sacrificed himself to a forest that may or may not have been a mass hallucination. But when Kavinsky kisses him, it's as real as a punch, and it doesn't have a damn thing to do with his dad or Gansey's search for a dead Welsh king, so Ronan kisses him back.

Kavinsky works his thigh between Ronan's legs, and he can't help rubbing himself against it. Kavinsky laughs against his mouth. "I knew you'd be easy for it."

Ronan bites Kavinsky's lip in retaliation, and is surprised by the way Kavinsky jerks against him. "Fucker, you should really be nicer to the guy about to blow you."

"What?" Ronan asks. He wonders if maybe he did fall asleep back at Monmouth Manufacturing, and this is all just a fucked-up dream. At least there are no monsters attacking him, but usually his sex dreams feature -

"Unless you want me to use my teeth," Kavinsky says as he undoes Ronan's belt and the button of his jeans, before slipping a hand inside his pants without even bothering to unzip.

The zipper slides down anyway, bit by bit, as Kavinsky wraps a hand around Ronan's cock. This has to be a dream, because that's the only way any of this makes any sense.

There's a voice in his head whispering liar, but Ronan doesn't want to hear it, so he fists a hand in Kavinsky's hair to pull him in for another crushing kiss, while Kavinsky jerks him off. It's all hard angles and pushing too hard as Kavinsky squeezes him just a little too tight to be comfortable, but Ronan doesn't push him off. He doesn't need to, because Kavinsky pulls back, taking a few ragged breaths before smirking at Ronan and dropping to his knees.

Ronan's pants have slipped down to just below his ass, and Kavinsky doesn't bother pushing them down any further, he just shoves his boxers down to meet them and looks at Ronan's dick long enough that Ronan can't help biting out, "Well?"

He's not going to beg for it, even if the look Kavinsky is giving him makes it obvious he thinks Ronan should, but fuck that. Ronan's not the one who started this. Ronan's not the one who brought up blow jobs in the first place. "If it's too much for you -"

Kavinsky cuts him off by taking the head into his mouth, and it's hot and wet and Ronan hates him a little for how good it feels. It wasn't supposed to be like this, but nothing's been the way it's supposed to be in years, so why not this, too? He lets his head fall back against the door of the stall, not needing to watch Kavinsky's head bobbing between his thighs. Ronan wishes he could pretend that it was someone else, but no one else would do this in a bathroom at Morton's. He briefly imagines the small spaces at St. Agnes's, but that makes him think of Declan, and he's sure as shit not thinking of his brother at a time like this, so he opens his eyes and looks down to face the reality of the situation.

Even the fucking Russian is better than that.

And it's not like Kavinsky's horrible looking or anything. If he wasn't such a dick all the time, it might be more obvious. If he could focus enough on forming words, Ronan might have tried saying something nice to him, just because it seems like the thing to do for the guy sucking your cock. Instead he curls his hand into Kavinsky's dark hair, and lets himself get lost in the way his tongue feels sliding against Ronan's shaft.

Kavinsky digs his fingers into Ronan's thighs, and each sharp point of pain knocks through him in a way that makes his hips jerk forward. He can feel his orgasm building in him, and manages to grit out a brief, “I'm gonna -” in warning.

Kavinsky pulls back, but not all the way, and actually manages to smirk and raise an eyebrow as if daring Ronan to come in his mouth.

Later, Ronan will be embarrassed that it worked, but in the moment he just hisses out, “Fucking hell,” and bites his lip while his eyes roll up the water stained ceiling. When he looks back down, Kavinsky's back on his feet and undoing his own pants.

“I'm not -”

“Not what?” Kavinsky challenges, his dick out in his hand.

“Getting down on that floor,” Ronan says, affecting his most Aglionby appropriate tone for this most inappropriate situation.

“Whatever, man,” Kavinsky says, grabbing Ronan's wrist and half pulling the leather bracelets off as he yanks Ronan's hand towards his dick.

It takes him a minute to adjust his grip into something less awkward and forced, but it's not like he doesn't have some experience with this, if not from this angle. There's also not a lot of room between them for him to move, so he keeps bumping his own stomach.

“Best blow job of your life, yeah?” Kavinsky says, his breath coming hard and hot against Ronan's cheek.

It was. The only way to try to bring him down would be to say it was the worst, too, and Ronan doesn't want Kavinsky thinking he's special or anything, so he just turns his head until their lips meet, and starts jerking him a little faster.

Kavinsky doesn't give him any warning before coming all over Ronan's hand and wrist.

"Fuck, man, seriously?" Ronan says, even as he keeps working Kavinsky through it. He didn't want to start this, but he's not quite ready for it to be over.

"I swallowed that shit, Lynch. Get over it."

But Ronan can't stop help but wonder how the fuck he's supposed to get come out of the leather wristbands, even as Kavinsky shoves some toilet paper at him. He wipes it off and tucks himself back in while Kavinsky does the same, wondering if he should threaten Kavinsky not to tell anyone. But what would Kavinsky say, "Hey guys, Lynch let me suck his cock before he jerked me off"? Gansey probably wouldn't believe it, and Declan would have a heart attack, so maybe it wouldn't be all bad.

"It's been real, Lynch." Kavinsky says, unlocking the stall door and dragging Ronan out of the way.

For a second he thinks Kavinsky is going to kiss him again, and he knows the fucker knows it, because Ronan is staring at his mouth when it twists into a smirk. But then he's just shoving past him, leaving Ronan to toss the toilet paper and flush away the evidence.

By the time he makes it back out to the bar, he can see the white Mitsubishi pulling out of the parking lot, red tail lights disappearing into the night. Ronan needs another drink.

Fuck, he hopes he doesn't dream tonight.

 

Ronan's too busy glaring at Adam for calling him a dick to notice Kavinsky come into Nino's. Not until he blows past Blue at the hostess stand and strolls right up to their table. He tries to play it cool, but he doesn't trust Kavinsky not to open with some line about sucking his cock.

It's not like Ronan asked him to do it.

Kavinsky makes brief eye contact with Ronan - his eyes glinting with the knowledge of just what Ronan's worrying about - before he addresses Gansey. "I saw your POS out front, and I remembered I had something for Lynch."

I'm right here you fucker, tell me yourself, Ronan wants to say, but he's still waiting for the other shoe to drop, when Kavinsky throws them down on the table.

The leather wristbands are identical to the ones on his wrist - although presumably Kavinsky hasn't jizzed all over these. But Ronan wouldn't put it past him.

He pushes the thoughts of Kavinsky jerking off out of his mind as he picks them up. "How sweet, man. It goes with everything."

"Like your mom."

"What am I supposed to do with them?" Ronan asks, ignoring the comment when Gansey presses his foot down on Ronan's in warning.

"Hell if I know. I just thought of you. Regift them. White rabbit shit."

"Elephant," Gansey murmurs, because Ronan would probably think he was dead if he let a statement as wrong as that pass without correction.

"Don't bring politics into this, Dick," Kavinsky says with a grin. He drops his hand to Ronan's head and rubs it, and Ronan can feel the way each follicle moves under his palm. He can feel it everywhere in his body, and he grits down on his back teeth.

"Well, I'm out. Things to do. Enjoy your book club, ladies."

Ronan forces himself not to watch as Kavinsky walks away this time, and instead looks at the leather bands in front of him. Where did he even get them? But the where isn't as confusing as the why.

"Like I said," Gansey says, continuing a thought Ronan hadn't been listening to. "Trouble."

He has no fucking idea.