Skov (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
obedientdog) wrote2021-05-01 09:28 pm
obedientdog) wrote2021-05-01 09:28 pm
Entry tags:
Open Post
🐺 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.
🐺 This is open to everyone who wants to thread with me!
dreampack au!!!
But it was just- playing, he guessed; burning off energy that had no place else to go. Maybe calling it a game wasn't quite right. But it was something other than it looked like, anyway.
With Skov.. well, Elijah knew that it didn't hurt him when they played rough. The other boy didn't seem to mind getting hit. It was like he came alive the same way that Elijah did. A pair of dysfunctional wires humming with the sensation of every impact. He wouldn't push any of the others like this- not even Swan or K. Certainly not Jiang or Proko. With Skov it was like he knew what Eli needed on hard days without the boy having to ask for it. He wouldn't even know what to ask for.
The truth was that no matter how bitter it might look, there was never malice in it when they hit each other. There was always blood... on someone's knuckles or in their mouths, bright copper, metallic on his tongue and it coats his split lip like the only lipstick he'll ever wear. Blood never felt like a bad thing with Skov, though. They were both boys too reckless to be called careful, but they cared enough that neither of them had ever ended up in the hospital. They'd never lost a tooth or broken a bone.
Things had shifted a bit since the night with the living embers that had fallen from his dreams. He was one of them, but before he'd been carefully letting them under his skin. Now it was like he'd jumped into them, suddenly tangled deep into these boys. Because K had held him and told him he was safe and not looked at him like he was different. And he hadn't told them his secrets. It made it all feel different in a way he didn't want to name. Elijah-- well, he still didn't want to talk about it.
He didn't want to make an announcement or have a fucking conversation about what was or wasn't in his boxers, or talk about it like things were any different than they'd been.
But at this point both Kavinsky and Proko are already aware. And K told him he was safe here, and Eli believes him, and he believes in the other boy, too. It's not that he doesn't want Skov to know, he just hates the vehicle of getting the words out. So he doesn't tell him. Instead it happens like this- Skov's topless and they're circling each other. That lull where Elijah usually pulls away before things can get weird. Before he gets too tempted to kiss the bruise on his cheek or let him taste the blood on his mouth.
Fighting like this always felt a lot like foreplay. Stopping always left him trembling, feeling one step from the edge, a drop he couldn't have explained. It felt like through punching him Skov could maybe pull out the feelings inside of him that didn't fit, but he didn't know what that would feel like. Skov at least has Swan, someone he can fuck through any residual weirdness. Elijah just has the furtive, longing glances he steals at Kavinsky when he thinks no one will catch him at it. He's not nearly as good at it as he thinks he is. But tonight he just pulls his shirt off and drops it to the floor like it's nothing.
He licks the blood from his split lip lazily, like nothing has changed, because for him it hasn't. He wouldn't wear his scars openly like this in the Aglionby locker room, but here-- in this space that was Kavinsky's, but also felt of the boys he cared for, it was different. K and his boys were different. Nervous as he was, he still knew this was safe. Home, whispers a voice, like a dream he's forgotten. K wouldn't have told him he was safe if the pack were going to turn on him.
He takes a step back, but only so he can wash down the blood in his throat with the rest of his half-finished beer, so the tremble on his skin is less obvious. Skov might not be the top of his class, but he thinks the boy can figure out what the scars mean. But the truth is that they don't mean anything: everything is the same as before. He's still a boy, still has a flat chest, still so rich he's planning on a classics degree with no particular intentions about what he might do with it. He's just also rich enough that he's been able to more or less bury things like sex at birth since he was sixteen. The scars don't mean anything- the fear is that Skov might think they do.
On bad nights, sometimes even Elijah forgets they don't matter.]
Up for another round? Or are you done already?
no subject
Tonight wasn't much different, in terms of all of those things. He never pushed though, didn't bring up his weird attraction to everything they did when they fought. Swan was the one who usually dealt with all of his excess energy and built-up sexual tension. But tonight-
His eyes tracked Elijah's motions as he pulled his shirt off, taking in the new expanse of skin before him. It took him a moment or two to even register the scars, and when he did he was distracted, gaze flickering back up to Elijah's mouth, then down again. There was so much going through his brain all he could really think was a little oh. He felt a little tangle of emotions that pinwheeled through his mind before, like a tumbleweed, it broke apart.
Taking a slightly shaky deep breath, he flexed one hand, glancing down at his knuckles.]
I could go again. Unless you wanted to make out or something.
no subject
It's like the tone of the tension in his body changes at the implied question, a slight shift so it's less nerves and more interest slowly laid bare. There's probably a dozen reasons to play by the same script that they always have, but Elijah can't think of a single one in the moment. Not with the way that Skov's gaze slides across his bare chest, and up to his mouth. He's never really had anyone look at him like this before. Looking at his skin, his exposed body, and not just seeing him for who he was, but wanting him.
For the first time in his life, standing in a room like this, being exposed, doesn't mean feeling defective. His breath is rough and it takes him a moment to gather his thoughts together for any sort of reply.]
I dunno. Maybe if you manage to hit me again.
[Not quite a witty reply, but he's not quite thinking straight. It's like an invitation, or like it could be a yes. Like the way his skin hums and the blood in his mouth makes him want it.
He knows they're crossing a line, he just doesn't quite understand what it is. But to be fair, right now he's more interested in following Skov step for step, seeing where this thing they've been doing leads. He's reckless with this, once he feels like he can be. Prone to following the chemistry instead of worrying about if it's a good idea.]
no subject
You don't think I can?
[He'd gladly take Eli up on the challenge, no matter how much more he'd rather mash their mouths together instead.
He'd been playing nice so far, fair, trying to take things slow. He didn't really want to hurt Elijah; he didn't want to hurt any of the boys in the pack. But that didn't mean he couldn't shake things up a little.
So, instead of swinging a fist, he flung himself at Elijah this time. Skov wanted to take him down to the floor, maybe wrestle around a little. Slightly less hitting, more skin-on-skin.]