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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 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."

"And tendencies to be assholes on occasion," says Jack, smiling, as they walked back up towards the house. "Handsome. Really good in bed?"

"Wow, rude," Kavinsky said, nudging Jack a bit. He preened, just a little, under the last two points, and then laughed and nudged Jack again. "Yeah, he is pretty okay in bed. I remember that, at least. No matter how much he wants to kick my ass. Probably sort of a problem."

He squeezed Jack's hand. "You guys are lucky. I'm glad you found each other. Wanna grab your shit out of my car?"

"Says Mr Married to the adorable, totally forgiving hipster gardener," laughs Jack, shaking his head. "Yeah. I'm totally screwed if I forget my portfolio. I'm pretty sure one of my professors wants to fail me just because I piss him off."

"Way too forgiving, oh my God," Kavinsky said, laughing and bright and so, so deeply in love. He pushed his hair back away from his forehead and huffed out a sigh. "Jesus Christ. I don't know how any of you, but especially him, put up with me."

They veered toward the car so that Jack could grab his shit. "I feel like that's a story."

Jack grabs his bag out of the back of Kavinsky's car and swings it up onto his shoulder. He rolls his eyes, makes a dismissive gesture.

"Think he just likes a certain kind of twink and I'm aggressively not interested."

Kavinsky snorted, a broad, sudden grin tripping over his face. He laughed and shook his head. A part of him wondered if Jack would have realized a professor was hitting on him before he was seeing Poison, if it would have occurred to him.

"Man, I've sucked dick for grades," Kavinsky said, casual and dismissive. "It ain't worth it."

"Yeah, no, totally not going to happen," says Jack, rolling his eyes. "He's my Life Drawing teacher." His nose wrinkles. "Like I need another reason to hate that freaking class."

"Oh God," Kavinsky laughed again, shaking his head. He had enough experience with weird, creepy teachers to know what that was like; at least any conduct problems had been his decisions, and not the teacher's. "I'd say, like, report him or something, but you still need that grade. Hopefully he gets off your ass; I could always suck his dick for you."

"You will fucking not," says Jack, shaking his head, laughing. "C'mon, asshole. Come see my house."

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