02 🍆 SO PARDON ME WHILE I BURST INTO FLAMES

[pillz]

Characters: Joseph Kavinsky & CR
Summary: First, Kavinsky is hassling Loki Odinson into taking a care ride with him. Some time later, Kavinsky is running away from his problems and straight into a vampire-consuming ball of fire called the first light of dawn, when a handsome blue-skinned bandito appears out of nowhere (because he can teleport).
Date(s): One fine mORNING in late January 2018
Warnings/Notes: Burning, graphic description of pain; mentions of past drug use, etc.



closed to Loki;

[it's not by prearrangement that the dream thief finds the god of mischief. mere coincidence with a dash of luck, and the fact that there's only so much to do in a population of a few thousand, especially when your magical biology programs you for a distinct inclination into staying up deep into the nights when other people are asleep. it's not like the place is big enough for timezones. there's a slight overlap between nocturnal creatures and people who, as a matter of course, happen to live on the edge. and who's edgier than loki odinson!

not that kavinsky thinks of it that way, of course. mostly, he's driving around in a fast car with his dog-shaped daemon scuffing around in the back seat, when his headlights flash over the demigod's tall, narrow frame. in a blink of an eye, or the twist of a steering wheel, the dream thief is pulling over to the slick stretch of sidewalk that loki is measuring out with his stride. buzzing the window down as he decelerates.]

Hey, sweetheart, [he calls out, grinning, the shit-eating kind, but all white fangs and gaunt cheeks. he peers out at loki, his heavy eyelids half-mast. he looks like some turd lord frat boy with an excess of designer tattoos-- fire bird blossoming on the side of his neck, skulls peeking out of his arm, under the short sleeves. vampires don't worry about winter weather.] You wanna come for that ride?

closed to Kurt;

[it starts with kavinsky running. he isn't running to any particular place— there's sixty miles of woods out here, and all of it seems repetitive. it wouldn't take long to run in a straight line, but you know woods. trees. trolls. now and then, he's also running from things like that— monsters, creatures of the wood.

at some point, he also runs from his daemon. she's annoying as fuck— warning him two hours before sunrise, then an hour. then forty minutes. she won't shut up, so he leaves her, earphones in, secondary media device blaring what passes for rap in xistentia into his skull. he can get home in ten minutes. he knows. he's done it before, hopping mossy trunks and cutting through rows of corn fields. once he hits the outer roads, he knows the way. it's easy. he doesn't need the fucking dog; she always catches up to him at home.

but there's something about shame and longing and grief and loneliness, which are also things that he is running from, invisible but powerful nonetheless, that have a way of dilating time, more than any drug that he used to take to medicate away those feelings. and he doesn't know, he doesn't notice, until the heat starts to seep through the blue air of pre-dawn, like summer warmth, except pain flares in his next step and

then

he's swearing, bolting, slamming up against a tree, fleeing into the tall shadow of the next one, his eyes roving the woods in a panic, disoriented by his own terror. pain starts at the edge of his shoulder. and like a child, he begins brokenly to cry.]

Comments

[shadowblends]

[hearing kavinsky's voice is reassuring, even with his tone being heavier than normal. his brain still feels pretty soupy, but the relief in the dream thief's tone is unmistakable.

he murmurs an answer, something unintelligible-- not that it matters when he's being kissed back.

the peculiar tang of blood makes the teleporter's features wrinkle; he never imagined that he might be one to drink blood. always a first for everything, though, and there's no going back now with kavinsky's lower lip in his mouth. kurt applies ample pressure around the skin and licks the blood away, almost feverishly.

all of a sudden, he breaks through the haze, warmth rushing back through his limbs, heart revved and pumping.] Kavinsky, [he repeats, tone crystal clear now through their lip-lock. reluctantly, nightcrawler breaks away, both hands cupping the fledgling's face so he can examine him.] You ... you're okay.

[and this time, when he leans to meet kavinsky's mouth, he doesn't think twice about the fact they're sharing blood.]

[pillz]

[kavinsky's head pitches back under the sweet brunt of kurt's kisses, like a damsel swooning under the power of her lover's passion. which is

funnily accurate, gender stuff aside. kavinsky had had a good run of the orgy the other month— in general, getting laid isn't exactly kavinsky's problem. but there's sex, and then there's sex with feelings, and then there's sex with feelings that he lets himself actually observe and feel to the truer depth of their intensity, and that is rare and far in between. it's easy for him to get naked with people as far as stripping off his jeans and underwear and shirt— nakedness in the other sense, well.

that turns in a whole other universe. and kurt is standing there in the threshold, holding the keys. holding out the keys to him. it's terrifying, but kavinsky is too fresh out of one kind of pain to remember his usual fear of the others. all he can think to do is say,] I am, [in a silly, boyish, incoherent mumble against kurt's bloody blue mouth,] 'lso there's some-- [kiss. kiss, kiss,] —fine print on, [kiss,] my blood, but [kiss.

kiss. but. but he'll finish that sentence in a moment, maybe, when they're done panting burnt vampire fumes into each others' mouths and have come back to rest, forehead against forehead, in the quiet sanctity of kurt's bedroom.]

[shadowblends]

[despite knowing very little about kavinsky's mannerisms, kurt has already decided he likes the way the shorter male reacts, how he becomes pliant as clay beneath warm hands and coppery kisses.

each peck is returned with eagerness, followed by a few brief pauses that way he can lap at the blood between them. he's still unsure as to why, but there's something sweet and almost addicting about vampire ichor. so much so, if kavinsky hadn't of said anything between all this smooching, he might have whimpered, pleaded to some extent for more, until he could no longer contain himself.

but he hears the mention of 'fine print' on this little exchange and some firm self-control takes hold. kurt meets the final kiss, holds it long as he can manage then breathes a sigh once their heads are resting together. this is a good break; a moment for him to gather his thoughts, reach for his chin and lick over his lips — really taste the crimson ringing his mouth and —

let the silence sink in.

then, the blue mutant can't resist, curiosity getting the best of him as always. he moves the hand on his face, extends the limb to cup joseph's neck, thumb idly stroking over a pale cheek.] What do you mean by 'fine print?'

[pillz]

[under kurt's fingers, the vein in kavinsky's neck is green under the translucent white. not warm enough to be alive, but heated from kisses and injury and healing. above the loose hold of kurt's hand, kavinsky's jaw has set, loosely. a thin film of blood still colors his lips, his pointed nose still in the middle of his face in absence of any actual need to breathe, pupils still blown out huge and lazy despite that he could see in deeper darkness than this.

part of him doesn't want to talk about this. part of him wants to go back to blood and sucking face. but he remembers rafa holding him in a cornfield, when he wanted to be held but hadn't yet known it.]

Addiction, [he says.] You can play around with it a little, and I sure as shit did back in Eudio. Clear up your colds, put the blood back in your tight little blue body. [his hollow eyes crinkle slightly, amused.] But it'll take you over if you do too much. Every night or whatever. Your usual-- [he clears his throat a little, but his voice comes back husky and thick with some combination of lust and the usual madness that runs kavinsky.] You'll be a'ight today.

[maybe kurt's going to be mad. meaner people have been madder than him before, though. he looks at the other boy expectantly.]

[shadowblends]

[again, another bit of silence drags on-- longer than he'd like, but he has to take a moment and process what kavinsky has just told him. his blood's ... addictive? yet he said that he'd be okay, since it was only a little bit this time.

he ponders the idea, wonders what it'd be like to need the fledgling's vitae like one might require sleep or food and drink. would he be okay with that? yes and no, taking his uncanny attraction into account. kurt has to admit, he would enjoy the intimacy of such a thing, although needing blood seems too bizarre, even for him.

surprisingly, when he speaks, his voice is calm and collected, blue knuckles dusting across kavinsky's jaw.] Convenient, [he expresses, accentuated by another brush of lips across the other boy's, a slight purr thrumming in his chest.] Thank you for telling me. [considering kavinsky could have been a total asshole and kept right on letting this bloodplay happen until kurt was addicted and dependent on him.]

I'm not sure how I'd feel about that, but. [he meets the older boy's dark eyes, the edges of his lips hinting at mirth.] At the moment, it's all right. I have a feeling my body would thank you for it.

maybe get rafa on your next tag.timeskippy?

[pillz]

[kurt isn't angry, then.

—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.]

that sounds perf to me!!

[shadowblends]

[some part of him more than likely should be; the point is that he's not, though. maybe his fuzzy state of being has something to do with it and later on, when he's had time to think about it, a tiny voice will rear up in the back of his mind, remind him that he shouldn't let his guard down like that because of silly feelings.]

Thank you, [comes the breathy reply.

then, kavinsky's lips meet his own again and kurt sinks into the embrace, lazily draping an arm around the shorter boy's shoulders as he reciprocates, full-lipped kisses on his mouth, near the corner and across his jaw after kavinsky leans away-- a motion that warrants bewilderment on the mutant's behalf. although, that string of curses, followed by "remind me not to—" is hard to resist laughing at.

and it's probably inappropriate, but he does it anyway, withdrawing so he can clap the hand around his face in a pathetic attempt to smother his snort. kurt slumps back against the pillows, examining how joseph's stretched across the (in a not fun way) messed up sheets, still snickering despite himself.]

To stay out too late? Or early. [he shrugs, fangs gleaming with utter contentment once he lowers his arm.] Whatever works in this case.

[pillz]

[remind me not to kiss a cute devil of a boy who seems like he might like me. it's always kavinsky's weakness. well. one among many, many weaknesses.]

Sure, [he says.] That works.

[and then

it's a few hours later before kurt has gone and gotten him. daemon communiques first, then the mutant had gone outside to see him. kavinsky had fallen into what seemed like a light doze— which isn't possible, because he's a vampire, but maybe it's because he's also half-dreamer. mostly, it's because the pain didn't all go away. some things take time. and other things take

an angry mother. which is who darkens the step of kurt's bedroom doorway in a moment, beside the young mutant himself. by now, the scent of burnt vampire flesh has settled into the still air, pungent. he's still settled down on top of the blankets, his cheek nested in the pillow, the vague feel of foreign scars still playing under his tattooed fingers when he moves them.

he doesn't know that in three, two, one—]