Joseph Kavinsky (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mitsubishievo) wrote2016-07-27 02:24 pm
mitsubishievo) wrote2016-07-27 02:24 pm
Entry tags:
When I pushed you pulled, you always made me feel so beautiful [for Jack]
There was an understanding at the house out on Lark Street, with it's peaceful garden and it's magic birds and it's loving boys, that when Kavinsky went to work at the club on the weekends, it was, in part, to keep him safe and sane with them. This was an appropriate and acceptable expression of his manic need for attention: people looking at his body, people who could not really touch him, and he could give them what they wanted for a moment, for a price. And when it was over, he put all the layers back on and he went on to the house on Lark Street, with it's garden and birds and boys, and they could take all the layers off and it was better, so much better, because he never thought of anyone else.
Except now he had.
Joseph Kavinsky, despite dating and being absolutely head over heels with two boys, did not think of himself as someone who was capable of multiple loves. But that was before Jack Vincent had appeared in the Arch Studio break room, before the quick-fire attempt at friendship had turned into a swooping, consumptive crush. That was before Newt had sat him down and laughingly, jokingly pointed out that Kavinsky talked about Jack the way he talked about Al, or him, and--well. Here they were.
"It can only ever be him," Newt told him, serious, holding Kavinsky's hand and pressing his thumb against the spinner ring. Kavinsky had kissed him and said, "He's got someone, sugar. The Fourth was a one off." But it was a comfort, in a way. A release. Knowing that they had come so far from December and January that Newt could trust him with this, that Newt would trust him to come back--not because he'd been told strictly to, but because Kavinsky always wanted to come back. Just like dancing, Kavinsky could show his skin, but only Newt and Al could crawl this deep inside his chest.
So, that night, Kavinsky danced. The same as any weekend. He had a new routine--less pole work, more filthy gyrations and insinuation of what his body was capable of doing in bed. And that was when he saw Jack Vincent in the crowd.
Except now he had.
Joseph Kavinsky, despite dating and being absolutely head over heels with two boys, did not think of himself as someone who was capable of multiple loves. But that was before Jack Vincent had appeared in the Arch Studio break room, before the quick-fire attempt at friendship had turned into a swooping, consumptive crush. That was before Newt had sat him down and laughingly, jokingly pointed out that Kavinsky talked about Jack the way he talked about Al, or him, and--well. Here they were.
"It can only ever be him," Newt told him, serious, holding Kavinsky's hand and pressing his thumb against the spinner ring. Kavinsky had kissed him and said, "He's got someone, sugar. The Fourth was a one off." But it was a comfort, in a way. A release. Knowing that they had come so far from December and January that Newt could trust him with this, that Newt would trust him to come back--not because he'd been told strictly to, but because Kavinsky always wanted to come back. Just like dancing, Kavinsky could show his skin, but only Newt and Al could crawl this deep inside his chest.
So, that night, Kavinsky danced. The same as any weekend. He had a new routine--less pole work, more filthy gyrations and insinuation of what his body was capable of doing in bed. And that was when he saw Jack Vincent in the crowd.