Open Post

[obedientdog]

🐺 Hit me up on plurk or via PM if you have any questions/want to run an idea by me first/what-have-you.
🐺 General squick/trigger list.
🐺 m/m for anything shippy.
🐺 General headcanon for Skov. If you've got different headcanon/ideas for a psl, hit me with 'em; I'm flexible.
🐺 Skov's kink list.
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Comments

reference to murder and suicidal ideation, etc etc

[dreamforger]

I know. I'm not gonna make you.

[He shrugs his shoulders a little bit awkwardly. He almost wants to stop talking, to just curl up in his lap for a while. Get high and watch some stupid movie and throw popcorn at anyone that interrupts. But instead, he tries again, tries to make the effort, because he doesn't want to exclude him.]

I can absolutely get a bad grade in being trans, Skov.

[He spoke slowly, like he was trying to get his attention, trying to get him to understand the pieces. Not really like he was stupid, but Kavinsky knew that he was grappling with something new, that was strange to him. Before all of this, Kavinsky had just been a boy and that had been enough. And it was almost tempting to want to go back to that. To wish he had just let it be, as if he could have.]

Because right now, no one knows except you and Swan. They think I'm like every other boy. So I'm still getting a passing grade in being trans. But there's a line to it, right? A point where I lose too many points. Maybe it dips and it's just rumors and shitty jokes, something I can bounce back from. Or maybe someone tugs my binder out of place in the locker room. Instant fail; can't repeat the class next term.

So part of it is safety -- no one's gonna look at Chuck Norris and wonder if he was born with a girl's body, if that compression shirt is because he's binding his breasts. But, the stereotype of gay men, especially about ones that like getting fucked, is about being effeminate. Girly. You know, like drag queens and the flouncy kid from that TV show where they sing all the shitty music.

And no, I don't think that if I let Swan fuck me, it'll be too much and suddenly someone will string together the pieces. But, it's like I said- it's complicated. Because I always have to be thinking about this shit, you know? Because nothing's ever just easy.

[He sighs, presses his face into Skov's shoulder, trying to not press too close. But at the question he shakes his head, lifting his head so he can meet his eyes, blinking slowly.]

No. It has to- it has to be something that I can bring back with me from the dream, something separate. So if I wanted to get rid of them, I'd have to bring back something capable of getting rid of them. Razors or knives, scissors or lighters. And what does that do to the rest of my body? So I tried fire. I thought it would work, but- hating my body that much, feeling ugly changed it into something ugly, I think. So it was too much; I brought it back wrong.

[It was the night his father had tried to kill him. The night he'd burned him alive. His mother hadn't been such a bitch before she watched his father die, either. But it still didn't really feel like a tragedy. He was alive. There were nights where that felt like a tragedy.]

So no, I don't try to dream them away. I dream my binders, which make them look flat, I dream the hormones- but I try not to change them too much. They work like they do in the dream, but what if I don't know everything that means? The pills and coke and everything are all meant to be temporary. With the hormones I'd literally be making my body run on dreams.

[obedientdog]

[Skov's shoulders sagged, slowly at first then all at once. He'd almost laughed when Kavinsky said you could actually get a bad grade in being trans, but he was so serious about it, Skov didn't dare risk it in case it came across wrong. He was glad he didn't, because when Kavinsky continued- and Skov let him, listening quietly- he realized that this was a lot more complex than he'd originally thought.

He hadn't- it was hard to think of Kavinsky being in danger. He always seemed so strong and sure and- not necessarily dangerous but a protective force. He made Skov feel safe. Skov didn't like the idea of anyone threatening or hurting K, even theoretically. He liked the idea of K hurting himself even less.

His arms curled tighter around the other boy's waist and he ducked his head. He was trying, so hard, not to be obvious about the fact he was tearing up. He felt guilty about it, like he shouldn't be the one getting upset when Kavinsky had gone through so much and had to worry about so much. But it was because Kavinsky had gone through so much that Skov was feeling emotional.]

I don't ever want you to have to hurt yourself. Or feel like you have to. [He mumbled, sniffling.] I didn't- I didn't realize things were so hard or complicated 'cause of this. I wish there was some way I could help to make things better.

[More than just being an understanding friend and safe space for Kavinsky. Well, understanding boyfriend, he guessed. Normally, remembering they were dating would fill him with warm, fuzzy feelings but he was too upset for that right now.]

[dreamforger]

[Admittedly, it was a little odd at first when Kavinsky realized that Skov was tearing up, that he was upset. But then after a few moments, he managed to work his way around to the fact that the other boy was upset over him. And the things that he said almost made K tear up, just because- fuck, but had anyone said anything like this to him before? He was quiet just because he didn't know what to say for a moment, and the temptation was just to stay like this, pressed up against Skov, and hope that passed for comfort. But he eventually manages to say something, at least.]

You do. You make me better. You're- kintsugi. The pottery they repair with gold -- I looked it up. You're like the gold. And you're always putting me back together.

[He's quiet for a moment, trying to figure out how to say it, how to say the words that twist around themselves in his chest. He sighs, just leaning into Skov's shoulder.]

I just- faked it, you know? Figured if I pretended to be as confident and careless about everything as I wanted to be, that maybe everyone wouldn't realize what a fucking mess I was. Because I've always thought I was broken. Not just because of my body, but.. you know. My parents couldn't even really pretend to love me, what did that fucking say?

I couldn't imagine being good enough for someone else to care about. I couldn't imagine that I'd ever figure out how to care about anyone else, either.

[I love you. But he doesn't say it.

Instead he presses a clumsy trail of kisses to the side of Skov's neck, mostly just to touch him, because touch and contact was the language that Kavinsky spoke best, especially when he was upset or on-edge. And Skov had always seemed to be just as fluent in it. So he pets his fingers against his hair, curling his fingers against the back of his neck and holds onto him like something precious.]

And now look at me. I have you. And Swan. And I-- care about you. Both of you.

[He sort of wants to just pull their clothes off and touch each other until he feels a little less frayed, or at least a little less worn from so much talking about it in the past few days. But if they're gonna do that here, he wants to be in his bedroom at the least. Not that he thinks his mom will come home early, but it just feels safer that way.]

Do you wanna.. finish our homework later?

[He knew he was being a bad influence, but it's not like he was good at resisting temptation anyway. Kavinsky did well on tests, but he had trouble caring and applying himself when it came to homework and class projects.]

[obedientdog]

[For some reason, Skov was particularly touched that Kavinsky had looked up kintsugi, but he was even more touched that he was the gold and that he could be capable of holding someone together when he felt barely capable of keeping himself in one piece. He didn't want to let go of Kavinsky in this moment, or ever really. Skov just cared about him so much; he wished he could do more to help, to make him comfortable in his own body.]

It says that your parents are fucked up. [The words came out a little vicious, but entirely in Kavinsky's defense.] You're not the problem.

[Every parent should love their family, but Skov was also intimately aware of what it was like to have at least one shitty parent. At least his mom loved him, though.

He took a deep breath, fingers rubbing gently against Kavinsky's back. It was easy to get distracted, especially with the other boy in his lap and his mouth on his neck and just- Skov wanted to curl up around him. Or do other things.]

You don't have to ask me twice; I'm always down for anything that isn't homework.

[dreamforger]

[It means more to him than he can say that Skov declares that he isn't the problem. It makes his eyes shine a little oddly in the lowlight of the living room, but after a moment he laughs it off, just nips at the other boy's neck, sucking against his skin like he could leave a mark on him to say the things he couldn't.

Kavinsky really wanted Skov to curl around him, but he wanted more than that too. So after a moment, he's slowly extricating his body from Skov and the couch. Getting to his feet and reaching out to grab the other boy's hand, tugging in encouragement. Kavinsky's eyes are dark with desire, want electric on his skin, and he just-- he wants to pull him into his bedroom and take their clothes off and pick up where they'd left off at the warehouse, figure out how they fit together.]

C'mon. I wanna take your clothes off and I don't wanna do it out here.

[He knew it was mostly an illusion, but it felt safer in his room. It was his space, not hers. There was a lock on the door, and K was not above climbing out the window if he had to. He looks at him through a flutter of his dark lashes, a filthy sort of smirk on his mouth.]

It'll make sitting in your lap more fun.