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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"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."

"Do you ever want them to?" asks Jack, finishing his tea and leaning in to pour a little more. He draws his legs up to sit cross-legged on the couch. "You ever want them to ask just so you can get it all out in the air?"

This had become about him. He looked over at Jack, finished his tea, and poured himself some more. It would be better with whiskey or tequila or vodka or something in it. Or if it was just whiskey or tequila or something.

"Maybe," he said and shrugged. "I mean, there's just some shit that--it's not really dinner conversation, I guess? It's easier to bring up with someone you're not fucking? I dunno."

"You can tell me," says Jack, grateful, honestly, for something else to focus on. "And I'll tell you about how fucked up I am about enjoying last night as much as I did?"

Kavinsky huffed out a breath, tilting his head back and looking up at the ceiling. He was still and quiet a moment. He wanted to force Jack to go first, to tell him what it was about last night that had him all fucked up.

Instead, he said to the ceiling, "The guy I cheated with lived in this building. I didn't know until the second time we hooked up. He was locked out of his place and I was coming over to see Al--he lived here too--and I unlocked his door, and he paid me in beer and dick."

"He sounds like a really nice guy," says Jack, eyebrows raised as he looks at Kavinsky over the rim of his tea-cup. Once again, he feels a little bit grateful that Poison isn't an asshole. "So that was number two? And the third time was New Year's Eve?"

Kavinsky nodded. He turned the fidget on his ring absentmindedly, as much to deal with his constant nervous energy as it was a reminder that it was there.

"I was so freaked out about being in love with them. With Newt, I didn't realize about Al at that point. I was--everything goes to shit with me anyway. I'd never dated anyone before. And here I was, living with someone. Madly in love with him. Having spectacular sex."

He was quiet a second. "So, first time, I sucked this guy's dick at a club. And second time was after I got him back into his apartment. And third time, I...wandered off on New Years Eve and went home with him, and then came home the next day."

"But it clearly worked out. Because you live with them now." Jack thinks about it for a moment. "Having a crush on me must be terrifying." He flashes a vague smile. "Especially when I told you I was starting to think I might be bi."

"Yeah, I mean. I lived in my warehouse and on people's couches for like a week." Kavinsky shrugged. "But, uh. We figured it out. I apologized. A lot. We don't really talk about it. Me coming home from seeing you at the Zen Center and Newt pointing out that I had a crush, that was like, probably the first time the whole fiasco really got brought up since it happened."

He looked at Jack quietly a second, trying to gauge the worth of honesty in this situation.

"It's rough, man. But, I mean, it's not more or less rough because of your sexuality. I've slept with loads of straight guys." He snorted. "Heh, loads."

Jack huffs a laugh, flustered by that for some reason. "Not so straight apparently, huh?" he says, rubbing the pad of his thumb between his eyebrows for a moment. "Pretty thorough and categorically debunked that."

Kavinsky shrugged. "I mean, tell that to most of the guys I went to school with? The amount of queer shit going on, and they were all straight as hell, or at least said they were. I don't think it really matters most times? So, you caught queer in Darrow. Big whoop, join the fuckin' club, I guess. It's probably in the water."

He smirked a little, leaning over to smack Jack's knee briefly, before he retreated back to his corner.

That makes Jack laugh, which feels good, actually - the way it releases all of the tension that he's been holding in his chest. He shakes his head a little.

"I mean, I blame him?" he says. "You've met him."

"Oh, you should definitely blame him too, man. Totally his fault." Kavinsky grinned at that, shrugging nonchalantly. He hummed a little. "So, here's the timeline of your night that I'm getting. Show up for totally-not-a-date-at-a-club, dancing, dancing too close, blowjob in a bathroom apparently, then back here? Was there more blowjobs? Was there only blowjobs? My first three sexual encounters were exclusively handjobs, man, but I was like fourteen."

"Oh, fuck, are we actually doing this?" says Jack, blushing and squirming down in the sofa cushions. "Blow job in the bathroom. I..." He closes his eyes, mortified. "Went down on him at my place. And then..."

"I cannot believe that you keep calling it going down, Jesus Christ," Kavinsky said, half a grumble, laughter coming up a little bit. He suddenly felt like he needed some booze all over again. He poured himself some more tea. "And then what, huh, Jackie-O? You punch your V card, or what?"

"What else do you want me to say? I sucked his dick? It was awesome?" Jack rolls his eyes, takes a sip of his tea. "I fucked him. He fucked me."

"Jesus, how many times did you guys go?" Kavinsky laughed. He had no room to talk, mind briefly, traitorously flashing back to the way he'd been fucked by Connor, how easily he'd put out for it. He shook his head a little.

"A bunch." Jack blushes furiously. "And again this morning. It was pretty fucking great."

"Good for you," Kavinsky murmured, his voice more distant now, for a moment. His mind had spiraled carelessly into thinking too much about January--but Jack and Poison were not that, and Kavinsky, despite his weird sort of burdening jealousy, was glad that they'd had fun and that Jack was comfortable enough with him to tell him about this.

"Too much?" asks Jack, scrubbing one hand back through his hair. "Sorry, man. I...pretty much literally don't have any one else to talk to this about. It's not like I can talk to Poison."

"No," Kavinsky said, pulling himself together. He reached over at shoved Jack in the shoulder, amiable, boyish, smiling a little bit. "No you're fine, that's all me and my head, dude. It's cool. Probably good for me or whatever."

He leaned back again, fidgeting his ring absentmindedly. "You gonna see him again?"

Jack throws his hands up, his tea-cup balanced on his knee.

"Fucked if I know," he says. "I want to? We're friends? He's been texting me all day." He sighs. "Might not be enough anymore."

"I mean, there's nothing wrong with taking some time and space to figure your shit out, dude," Kavinsky said with a shrug. He'd just taken a week to figure his shit out, after all--much more successfully, for the most part, even if it had solved absolutely nothing, than the last time he'd gotten emotional over someone. "And you seem way more emotionally stable and mature than me, so, like. You seem like you'd manage to figure your shit out."

"I feel like I can't think straight when I'm around him? Like he's all sharp edges and swagger and he makes me feel like such a kid, and then he was looking at me last night and...Jesus."

His face flushes again. "Yeah. I've got some shit I need to figure out."

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