—not that kavinsky would have cared, of course. if kurt was pissed, that would be his own fault. kavinsky's ludicrous ego would make it so, recoiling in on itself like a hermit crab prodded by an unwanted stick. he makes a half-hearted grimace when kurt touches his chin, pretending not to like it. but then the skin of his face hurts, so he lets his face smooth over.]
Yeah, [he agrees.] It fixes you up.
[on impulse, he kisses the boy again. ducks forward, quick as a bird hopping between feeders to steal something sweet— and sweet it is, just a quick peck brushed off the blood-flavored blue of kurt's mouth. the next moment, of course, kavinsky regrets it. being stationary for a moment had lulled his skin into forgetting the agony of new growth and burnt abrasion-- the scrape of his cheek on pillow, shoulder across blankets, that jolts through him. it's not at all as bad as it was, but he's tender.]
Fuckin'-- ow. Ow, bitch cunt son of a horse's-- twat— [he rolls away slowly, gingerly, settles onto his back, groaning, laying there like the carcass of a beached whale on kurt's newly stained bedsheets. nor are they stained the fun away, tragically.] Goddamn. Remind me not to--
maybe get rafa on your next tag.timeskippy?
—not that kavinsky would have cared, of course. if kurt was pissed, that would be his own fault. kavinsky's ludicrous ego would make it so, recoiling in on itself like a hermit crab prodded by an unwanted stick. he makes a half-hearted grimace when kurt touches his chin, pretending not to like it. but then the skin of his face hurts, so he lets his face smooth over.]
Yeah, [he agrees.] It fixes you up.
[on impulse, he kisses the boy again. ducks forward, quick as a bird hopping between feeders to steal something sweet— and sweet it is, just a quick peck brushed off the blood-flavored blue of kurt's mouth. the next moment, of course, kavinsky regrets it. being stationary for a moment had lulled his skin into forgetting the agony of new growth and burnt abrasion-- the scrape of his cheek on pillow, shoulder across blankets, that jolts through him. it's not at all as bad as it was, but he's tender.]
Fuckin'-- ow. Ow, bitch cunt son of a horse's-- twat— [he rolls away slowly, gingerly, settles onto his back, groaning, laying there like the carcass of a beached whale on kurt's newly stained bedsheets. nor are they stained the fun away, tragically.] Goddamn. Remind me not to--
[you know. all that, again.]