mitsubishievo | (no subject)

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Time moved. He'd been married for a month now, nineteen for a handful of days. He hadn't turned into a girl this year, and that was, Kavinsky wasn't sure, an improvement or not on last year. The days were long, and cold; if it wasn't snowing, it was raining. If it wasn't raining, it was windy as hell. Kavinsky was done with winter. He was over it.

He and Jack still talked, texted mostly, and Kavinsky wasn't entirely sure if the distance was just because Kavinsky had been busy with work and Jack had been busy with classes, or if Jack was making a conscious effort to stay away from him, like Kavinsky might not respect that Jack had put up a roadblock on whatever they were--had been--doing.

He didn't like the roadblock. He supposed he didn't have to like it. That wasn't the point. Kavinsky was just tired of one of his best friends being sort of inaccessible.

So, Kavinsky was sitting at a light when he called Jack. He picked up, which meant he probably wasn't in class, but Kavinsky said, "Are you in class right now?" anyway, and then followed it swiftly with, "Play hookie with me, if you are, bitch. I'm way more fun than color theory."

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Kavinsky let the ache grow and chew, a maw on the inside of his ribs. He missed Jack too, more than he knew how to describe. He wasn't sure he could really handle this being on again-off again based on Jack's moods for a given day. But the friendship was crucial to him. He wasn't sure how to manage that, either.

He tilted his head back and sighed, looking at Jack for a second. Then, he offered a quiet, reedy laugh.

"Wanna go for a walk? I--I mean, I was just thinking we'd fuck around and watch tv, and now I've gotta, like. Reign my shit in 'cause we're at your place and shit's back on the table."

"We can definitely walk," says Jack, nodding. "Okay if I leave my bag and my portfolio in the car, though, until we get back? It's completely, ridiculously unwieldy."

"Yeah," Kavinsky said, flapping a hand vaguely. He got out of the car. "You wanna put it in the trunk? Not sure what you're carrying around." Not that any part of Darrow was particularly shady or crime ridden, but if it made Jack more comfortable, they'd put his things in the trunk so as not to tempt would-be thieves.

"Yeah. I've got my tablet and my laptop in my bag." Jack swings up out of the car, grabbing his backpack but leaving his portfolio in the back seat. He drops his bag into the trunk and then steps away, hands in his pockets. "C'mon. Let's walk."

Once everything was settled, Kavinsky took a second to regret how Jack tucked himself away. He let that chew at him too, and then tucked his hands into his own pockets and started to walk.

They made it about two blocks before Kavinsky had to fish out his cigarette case and light one up, just trying to take the edge off his nerves for a second. Once it was lit, he shoved one hand back into the pocket, and let the other dangle between deep-breathed puffs.

"So," he said after a moment more of silence. "So, what are you thinking this looks like?"

"I love you," he says, softly. "I'm not...I'm not in love with you, man, but I love you, and not being with you like that? It sucks." He grits his teeth. "I'd understand if you didn't want that, Kav. I'd understand if you can't take me changing my mind like this. I'd pretty much deserve it."

"I can deal with you changing your mind, man," Kavinsky said, a moment of thought breaking up his words. He was used to guys who waffled on whether or not he was worth fucking. Newt was the first real stability in his life since he was very young, and outside of his family.

"I just wanna know what this looks like. Like. Do I have to not wear my ring, if you wanna hook up?" And then, quietly, he looked at Jack for a moment, and asked, "Do you get to call the shots of when we're hooking up? I just--if we're doing this, I need to know."

Jack shakes his head.

"You're married. I'm not asking you to pretend that we're not. And...No. I...it was all wrong last time, because I set all these bullshit boundaries and made you feel like you didn't...LIke it didn't matter to me. I don't want that."

"I know I'm married," Kavinsky said, almost a growl. That was what had started this whole mess of Jack needing to figure this out. He kicked a pebble down the road. "And I'm not going to act like I'm not, but if you're going to get flighty and weird about me wearing my ring when we're fucking around with each other--I don't wear it when I dance, either. It's not like the tattoos."

Newt and Al were permanently etched into Kavinsky's skin, and there was no escaping that. Just like there was no escaping the poison symbol just above Jack's groin. The ring was incidental to knowing where they'd always end up.

"And you didn't do it wrong, last time," Kavinsky said, sucking in more smoke, working through the cigarette with a nervous energy. "We need boundaries. You need them. Poison needs them."

"It's up to you." He's not going to ask Kavinsky to take it off, though. He takes a deep breath in. "Yeah," He says. "We do. For all o us. So. Let's set boundaries."

Kavinsky shrugged a little. His boundaries were where they'd always been--permission from both sides, no lasting marks, check in before anyone stayed over. He didn't know, really, how to make this different than what it had been.

But something ripped in Kavinsky's chest. Boldly, he said, "I'd like to see you. It doesn't have to be dating, we don't have to call it that or whatever. But I want this to be something else besides us hanging out, with a side dose of needing to get off."

A side dose of Jack needing to get off. Kavinsky didn't say that, because of course he got off when they fucked. He shrugged a little.

Jack nods.

"Like...movies? Dinner?" He smiles. "Krem and Poison do date nights. I don't see why we couldn't."

Kavinsky looked over at Jack, sort of soft, cautious. But Jack was smiling, soft and speculative maybe, like it could work. And Kavinsky let himself settle with that. He could have that.

He slipping one of his hands out of his pocket, and reached out to snag Jack's sleeve, pulling him close so he could slip his hand into Jack's pocket with him. It was such a small gesture, but it felt like a lot.

Once Kavinsky's hand is there, Jack threads their fingers together and squeezes his hand.

"I'm sorry I'm never going to be quite what you want me to be, sweetheart," he says, softly.

The gesture, the pet name, slid through Kavinsky like an oil slick. That was terribly dangerous. Kavinsky looked for his stop gates, his containments, something, anything to slow down that swoop in his stomach.

He shrugged a little, squeezing back. "Not your problem. Or your fault. What I've got goin' on in my own head's for me to worry about. We're cool." He nudged Jack a little bit. "So, I did my request for all this. Where're we at on your end?"

"Don't think I really have any," he admits, cheeks colouring slightly. "I just...yeah. Want to stop getting in my own way where you're concerned?"

"Nothing new, anyway," Kavinsky amended. He knew the rules as they stood, permissions and no marks and all those other, little things. He was surprised he was getting a little leeway; he wasn't going to push anything.

"I don't think you're...getting in your own way. You're just--you're navigating something new. Renavigating something new." Kavinsky nudged Jack gently. "You didn't know you were into dick, a year ago. Give yourself a little credit."

"Yeah," says Jack, smiling. He tugs Kavinsky to a halt, pulls him in so that he can kiss him, just a brush of lips on lips. Barely there.

It was such a small thing. He didn't think he and Jack had ever really kissed in public, and for a second, there was that gut reaction that they shouldn't, that being so publicly demonstrative could be dangerous.

But that was crazy. He knew that was crazy, he'd been here for a year and a half almost, he was married. Nobody was going to hurt them if they kissed.

So he kissed Jack back, just gently. He relished it, and told himself he shouldn't. He brought his free hand up and cupped Jack's cheek for a second, soothing his thumb against Jack's cheekbone. Then he bumped their foreheads together gently.

"You, uh. Wanna go back to your house and watch some shitty movies or something?" There was no rush to figure things out.

"Yeah," says Jack, softly, breathing out a little huff of relief against Kavinsky's mouth as something in his chest slides into place. "Movies sounds good. And we've got to behave if we're at our place."

He doesn't think easing in will hurt them.

"I know that," Kavinsky teased, rolling his eyes. He nudged Jack gently, and turned them around to head back toward Jack's house. "I am fully capable of behaving myself, man. I might end up snuggling, but we'll be clear on a handcheck."

"I can live with snuggling," says Jack, grinning, squeezing Kavinsky's hand. "Can't promise how Poison will react if he walks in on it, though."

Kavinsky was quiet for a moment, their fingers still linked. He smiled a little bit, teased gently, "Maybe I'll sit on the floor. Last thing I need is your man givin' me more of a side-eye than he already does on the regular."

"He says he's going to try and be better," says Jack, ducking his head a little. "You're too much alike - that's the problem. You're never going to like each other that much." He flashes a grin. "Guess I've got a type?"

Kavinsky smiled but he didn't really believe it. Poison said that to him periodically too. He believed it a little bit more when he said it to Jack but, ultimately, that just meant not badmouthing him around Jack.

He nudged him gently. "Paranoid speed demons with authority issues? Seems like a good type to have."