mitsubishievo | O, daĭ mi lyubovta [for Jack]

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O, daĭ mi lyubovta [for Jack]

Kavinsky gave himself a week. He gave himself a week of distance and focusing on other things, and he was going to get over this stupid infatuation. The knowledge that Jack liked someone else was almost settling, really. It helped to keep the onus of his behavior on himself. Jack was a good kid, and he deserved to have some comfort, and if that meant he explored himself a little bit, then more power to him.

And, well, Kavinsky knew that rough sort of liking someone and being unsure how they felt. At least Poison seemed a relatively safe sort to have a crush on, as far as first queer crashes went. Kavinsky couldn't blame Jack for that, at least.

So, he gave it a week. A week, and then he'd be over this stupid infatuation.

God, he hoped so.

He texted Jack in anticipation of harassing him at his apartment--deliberately not thinking about Chelsea Cloisters, his history with the building, with people who had lived here once, with things he had done here--a simple im coming over and u cant stop me approximately five minutes before he arrived at Jack's door and knocked, sharp and succinct.

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"Wait, what part of the attractive older guy I like is taking me to a club and I need my friend to get me a fake ID to get in isn't a date, exactly?" Kavinsky laughed again. He followed Jack back out to the couch and flopped down, putting his feet up on the coffee table.

"Yeah, okay, fair. Like, I would not call most of the things I've done dates, either. But, ya know. For your sweet baby-queer ears we can call 'em dates." Plus, Kavinsky didn't think Jack was the kind of kid who would put out that easily. Apparently, he was wrong.

"Well, I thought we were just friends," points out Jack, blushing at how lame that sounds, even in his own ears. He leans forward, pouring two cups of tea. "And then suddenly, we weren't just friends and now I don't know what I'm supposed to do with that?" He makes a face at baby-queer though.

"The hell do you mean, you're not just friends? What, you put a dick in your mouth, and that precludes being just friends or something? Shit, I better right home to, like...a good twenty people I went to school with."

He arched a brow at Jack, maybe deliberately trying to get a rise out of him now, maybe just a little bit generally curious about this stipulation Jack seemed to have about sex and friendly behavior. But it wasn't like it was foreign to Kavinsky. He knew that his situation had been an outlier. No one was going to admit to what they'd done with him because it was dangerous, on top of various other reasons for not admitting to it.

The mention of putting dicks in his mouth makes Jack blush darker because it comes with a very visceral sense memory attached. He blinks, sits back with his tea cup cradled between his hands.

"Do you seriously want to hear me talk about this? Because, honestly, I could get this shit off my chest."

That blush said more than Jack asking if Kavinsky wanted to hear about it and, just going off that, Kavinsky could tell he didn't. This was good though. If he could just put this together in his head--Jack was off limits, not only because Kavinsky was in a loving, committed, closed relationship, but because Jack was in...whatever he was in--then he could just get over it.

Better than a week.

"Yeah man," he said with a nod. "C'mon, lay it out. I can guaran-fucking-tee I have done worse."

"He stayed the night," says Jack, resting his tea against his chest. "He..." His lashes flutter and, God, he's mortified. "Went down on me? At the club. I bought him. We..." He rolls his eyes towards the ceiling. "Did some other stuff?"

Kavinsky was quiet a second, processing Jack's process here. He tried to remember the last time he'd been mortified by his sexuality. It had probably been in this building. He put the thought carefully out of his head. It had probably been by the businessman in DC, early in their arrangement, before there were things to mortify him with. Before the businessman had gotten bored.

"So is this,"--he gestured at Jack and his discomfort--"because he sucked your dick and you don't know what to do about that, or because of the other stuff, or because he stayed over?"

"I don't know?" says Jack, because he doesn't really know and he doesn't see the point in lying about it. "Like. It doesn't bother me that he's a guy; that is the least worrying thing about this. I..." He sighs. "Fuck. I'd never. Before last night?" He shrugs. "I'm not a monk or anything. Just...hadn't."

Kavinsky straightened a little bit because, of course, there were plenty of guys in an all boy's school who were virgins, or guy's who didn't count handjobs or blowjobs or whatever as sex because they were from townies or other guys. That was just how it was. But Jack was--well, Jack was cute. And charming, and well spoken, and--well, he was a bit like Dick, really, but not in that entirely snobbish way that Dick Gansey had.

"Oh," he said, sort of softly. He was aware that his cheeks felt a little warm. He was thinking about this all too much. "Hey man, that's--it's whatever. First time's whatever. At least Poison's a cool dude."

"I think it'd be easier if he wasn't?" says Jack, frowning as he says it. He takes a sip of his tea. "Like, I think this would be easier if I thought he was an asshole."

"Man, nah." Kavinsky shook his head. "I've slept with loads of assholes. You know what that gets you? Crying in a clinic two towns over when you're fifteen because some dude held your head in a sink while you were high."

He picked up his cup of tea and took a sip of it, face carefully neutral in the aftermath of the statement.

"Oh, Jesus." Jack just stares at him for a moment and then takes another sip of tea. "Yeah, well, he's not an asshole. At all. And now I can't stop thinking about him and I'm not sure what the fuck I'm supposed to do with that."

Kavinsky made a face at Jack's half voiced concern, munching a cracker noisily between sips of tea. He let Jack stew for a second, not sure if there was an actual call for advice there, or if Jack just needed to get the words out into the universe.

Finally, he leaned back. He let out a gusty sigh. "I mean. Take some time to think about it? Fucking around for the first time can be kind of intense for some people, so--and if he's your first person, let alone your first guy? My man, just. Just let yourself chill for a second. Breathe and whatever."

"Yeah. I need to not see him for a few days." He huffs a laugh, shakes his head. "Part of me is terrified it's going to end up a one time thing."

"So, if it does, then you got to have some apparently awesome sex--based on how you're acting--with a pretty cool guy. That doesn't seem too awful, man." Kavinsky reached over and knocked Jack gently in the shoulder, offering him a consolatory smile.

Then, chest tight with terror to say it, he laughed and said, "I have the stupidest--the absolutely stupidest crush on you, dude. Okay? That is going to go absolutely negative places so there was no point in telling you that. Just. It is entirely possible to like someone and do jack all about it."

He looked down at his tea. "Hopefully shit works out for you and Poison. Watch the dumb singing show."

Jack blinks.

"You..." He frowns. "On me?" He blushes a little. "I mean, that's cool, man? That's fine. You and your boys you...live together, right? It's a thing?" He takes a sip of his tea. "Maybe I want to do something about it? But like...it's like trying to predict a freaking firework."

"Yeah, we live together," Kavinsky said, feeling safer about that then about talking about his sexual history or about his emotional confusion. He set the box of crackers aside before he ate the whole thing. "Newt and Al were sort of a package deal, but still had their own places, and I was living in my warehouse in late November and early December after the landlord at Candlewood kicked me out."

He was quiet a moment, then laughed softly. "Fireworks are pretty predictable, man."

"Not if you don't know what direction they're going to go in," he points out. "I'm. It's so hard to predict what he's going to do." He sighs. "I thought I was being really subtle, too, and then he called me on it last night."

"Sometimes it's hard to be subtle," he said, shrugging. He fidgeted a moment, then smiled, leaning back in the sofa. "I came back from hanging out with you last week and Newt called me on my crush like. Bam. But he's been around me since early November, except for a couple weeks in there. He's starting to learn me pretty well."

"I was doing really, really okay," protests Jack, laughing at himself for a moment. "But then he like, draped himself all over me while we dancing, said he was running interference and..." He shrugs.

Kavinsky tilted back his head and laughed. He was pretty sure he'd played that exact same ploy on at least a half dozen guys himself, and they were ones that weren't likely to reciprocate anything in the first place.

"Yeah, it's a little hard to be subtle when you're shoulders to hip with someone you wanna know biblically, ain't it?"

"Super hard," he says and then the phrasing made him blush and he scrubs his cheek with the back of his head. "And then, yeah. Club bathroom." He frowns. "Is talking to you about this super shitty, given context?"

"You mean the context of we're not talking about it because it's never gonna happen because you're not into me like that and I'm trying to be a better person than I have previously been?" Kavinsky kept his eyes trained carefully on the television, fixated by performances that reminded him of something like home.

Candidly, he said, "I cheated on my boys, back in December. The same guy. Three times, but they only found out about once. They only know about once, at New Years. So, like. The whole crush thing is sorta messing me up, actually? Listening to you talk about sex is definitely not the problem here."

"Wow, okay," says Jack, leaning back in his chair. "So what's that like? Having them know but not all of it?"

"It sucks?" Kavinsky carded his fingers back through his hair. Then, he huffed a noise that might have thought about being laughter for a moment. "They get bits and pieces of a lot of things I've done, but I don't think--like, for all that they had pretty messed up times growing up, it was a different sort of thing?"

He was quiet a moment and then shrugged. "I've never actually really told anyone about the kid that held my head in the sink while I was high. Like, I sorta did, one time with Newt? I was washing dishes in his kitchen and he got handsy and I asked if he was gonna stick my head in the sink, because I'm not into that, and he just--didn't ask about it. They don't ask about a lot of stuff, and I don't really volunteer it."

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