[kavinsky reacts to touch the way he reacts to most things: based on whether or not he can make it look cool. if he can get away looking cool. if he doesn't lose his cool. looking good matters more than being happy or honest, more than being comforted or, sometimes, even alive. anyway: he doesn't flinch or recoil, because joseph kavinsky never flinches, never recoils.
but it takes him a second to notice nico's hand there, then to realize the little god is getting a really good look at him. it's reflex, the way kavinsky puts a smile on his face, casual, although his eyes blink a little harder at nico than he usually needs to.]
If I pissed a little, would you be into that?
[kavinsky does this. hides behind bullshit and noise, offending people to rebalance the power in a given moment. but he's off his game right now, even though his eyes hold steady. he's rallying inside of himself, coming back into his own skin. he doesn't run away. sometimes even when he ought to. but he doesn't say the hooker joke that comes to mind, his cheek resting warm in nico's hand.]
no subject
but it takes him a second to notice nico's hand there, then to realize the little god is getting a really good look at him. it's reflex, the way kavinsky puts a smile on his face, casual, although his eyes blink a little harder at nico than he usually needs to.]
If I pissed a little, would you be into that?
[kavinsky does this. hides behind bullshit and noise, offending people to rebalance the power in a given moment. but he's off his game right now, even though his eyes hold steady. he's rallying inside of himself, coming back into his own skin. he doesn't run away. sometimes even when he ought to. but he doesn't say the hooker joke that comes to mind, his cheek resting warm in nico's hand.]
Where's my fucking CD, babe?