Prokopenko (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dreamedboy) wrote2021-11-30 12:58 am
dreamedboy) wrote2021-11-30 12:58 am
Entry tags:
Open RP 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 Proko. If you've got different headcanon/ideas for a psl, hit me with 'em; I'm flexible.
⛈️ Proko's kink list.
⛈️ This is open to everyone who wants to thread with me!
just some pervy trashy feels ahem
It wasn't even something they'd planned, but it had been a bad day for Kavinsky, and he'd ended up curled up in the passenger seat of Proko's car, with his shades over his eyes. And Proko had taken him home, like he understood that Kavinsky's wasn't any sort of home at all. He even eats some of the leftovers Proko's grandmother leaves them for dinner. And later, around midnight, the beautiful blonde boy that had somehow fallen into K's life asks: do you want to stay? and Kavinsky says yes, with his voice almost breaking, an intensity like he means more than tonight.
Somehow, the promise that he can stay the night seems to brighten the dark-haired boy.
--Or maybe it's the glimpse he steals of Prokopenko in the shower.
Kavinsky didn't bring a change of clothes, and while he could dream one, he doesn't. Not when the alternative is Proko offering him one of his tee-shirts, which sits loose on Kavinsky's frame, but he likes the way that the other boy looks at him in it. Almost possessive, like Kavinsky is something that he could keep- like he wants to. Like the sight of Kavinsky in his tee-shirt is a pleasure they both enjoy. And unlike Proko, Kavinsky doesn't wear pajama pants- in part because he likes the way the other teen watches when he bends to grab something off the side of the bed.
He makes him feel- like he's more than desirable, like he's lovely, like he could be a dream. Normally he feels like people want him because he's willing, or because they think it'll make it easier to get what they want from him. Proko looks at him like Kavinsky is what he wants. It makes his skin burn, and sleeping isn't really what he has in mind.
He's sitting at the foot of the bed, and he catches his shirt in his fingers, tugging him in so that he's standing between Kavinsky's spread thighs as he looks up at him. They'd fucked at a party once, which K didn't regret, but he'd been drunk and high and even then afraid he wouldn't get this boy out of his veins. So they didn't talk about it. Kavinsky would flirt a little, but he pulled away before it could mean something.
But now, he's almost too sober to exist in the world, feels like he'd die without Proko keeping him here.]
Do you still want me, Illya?
[He asks it in Ukranian, and while it's the sort of question that could be mocking, it isn't. It's raw and needy and Kavinsky doesn't hide from it. He wants to pull his pants down with his teeth, he wants Proko to fuck him so hard he has to keep a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet, so that Kavinsky can feel his own skin, so that he can't feel alone.]
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There was an importance to who you chose to surround yourself with, and maybe Proko's choice said he was a bit of a mess too, but he didn't care; he wouldn't trade K for the world. Not when he was on fire from his confidence and charm and magnetism, and not when he was down and needed someone. There was no such thing as 'too much' for Proko to handle when it came to the other boy. He would be there for him through the good times and the bad, if K allowed him.
His breath caught long before Kavinsky said anything, when Proko was tugged in close. He couldn't help but admire Kavinsky, which felt a little selfish. He swallowed around the lump in his throat; there was something about hearing him speak Ukrainian that did something to him. He knew it was for him--or at least, he thought it was, and that was- It mattered. Proko was bilingual, though usually he heard English all around him, spoke English himself.
Was it the language itself or how lovely it sounded coming from Kavinsky? He thought maybe it was both.
A little shiver ran through him and he bit his lip, not because he had any trouble deciding if he wanted Kavinsky or not, but because he wanted him so much. Gently, not as though K would break, but as though he was precious to Proko (he was), he cupped K's face in his hands.]
I always want you.
[It was soft, also in Ukrainian.]
You're the only one I want.
[It felt vulnerable to admit that, but was he supposed to lie or hide it? No one else could compare to Kavinsky in Proko's eyes. He was one of a kind, special.]
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I never stopped wanting you. I thought it would be complicated.
[He tilts his face into the way that Proko cups his face in his hands. It wasn't necessarily that he thought that it wouldn't be complicated anymore, it was just-- He needed this, he needed him, and he couldn't resist reaching for him when he was right here. His lashes flutter over his dark eyes, and he sucks in a breath like he has to steady himself when Proko says that Kavinsky is the only one that he wants. And not for the first time, he wonders how he's this lucky; what magic trick he dreamt that pulled the other boy into his life.
And then he leans in so that he can nuzzle into his stomach, so that he can grope him through his pajama pants.
It isn't that he thought the other boy would have pushed him away without the words, it was just... he wanted him to know. He wanted him to know what this meant to Kavinsky, that it was different than a drunken hookup. That there were feelings here, that it meant something to him, and as much as he wanted Illya to fuck him, he wanted it because of all the things that he'd always made him feel. Because he trusted him to take him apart, because he trusted him not to leave him alone.]
I want you to fuck me in your tee shirt.
[He switches to English as he says it, looking up at him as he breathes against his skin. His profanity was better in English, and also he liked the way that it sounded on his tongue. He also wanted Proko to make him feel like he belonged somewhere in this world, wanted to feel like he could belong to him. He wanted him in words he didn't know how to say outloud, but trusted the other boy to understand in the quiet and the heat-charged tension, the way that Kavinsky looked at him like he needed something.]
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[He knew things in life were rarely easy or simple, but if there was anything that felt easy, it was Proko and Kavinsky. Which wasn't to say they never fought or argued--Proko could be just as much of a little shit sometimes--but that they remained friends despite that.
A lot of strings came attached with sex, Proko also knew. Desire and expectations, and of course he had both of those, but he thought- he hoped-
But then Kavinsky was nuzzling him, touching him, and Proko's breath hitched for a moment. It was going to be increasingly obvious in a few seconds the sort of effect Kavinsky had on him. How badly he wanted the other boy. He wanted to be more than friends.]
Okay. [It came out on an exhale as he slid his fingers into K's dark hair. He was already imagining it; he couldn't help it.] Yeah.
[He'd give anything to Kavinsky right now, with the way he was looking at him. Proko wanted to be there for him, to be the person he could lean on when life was shitty and hard. He would've wanted to be that person even if there wasn't sex involved, but the sex- how long had it been? How many days had he spent thinking about that night, wondering if it was a one-off thing or something K wanted to do again?]
I want to be what you need.
[It was raw and open and earnest.]
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Except that he'd never stopped thinking about it. And now Proko's fingers were in his hair, and he murmurs softly, but doesn't stop touching him. He lets his fingers continue to grope him through the fabrics of his pajama pants, tracing the shape of his cock, encouraging his arousal with lidded eyes. It had been so long, but this was-- it was changing things, it was a sort of promise. And sure there were questions and details that they needed to work out, but it felt like those were things that could wait until later.]
I need you.
[It was simple and true, his fingers hooking into the waist of Proko's pants so that he could tug them down, mouth against his cock. He was so hungry for him, aching, already hard under the tee-shirt he wore, his fingers trembling where they curled against the other boy's hips. His every touch was an invitation, a reaffirmation that he needed this, that he wanted him, wanted Illya's hands on him. Trusting his body to him, to make it better in ways that Kavinsky couldn't say outloud.]
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Okay.
[It came out a little shaky but was no less warm for it. K'd always had an effect on him and keeping things platonic all this time after that night had almost felt like a crime. He wanted to worship Kavinsky's body, take him apart affectionately and put him back together again.]
I can't fuck you like this.
[But he wasn't in any obvious hurry to move, though there was a part of him that wanted to pick Kavinsky up and lay him down in the middle of the bed. Proko was strong enough for it, after all, but he was also being a little selfish right now, not wanting to pull away from K's hands and mouth.]