Okay, I saw your post about wanting writing ideas-
I'd like something cuddly with Boy Kavalier, I crave the comfort. Him being a snarky ass here and there, them play fight and roll over the bed - just some good quality time uwu
THE GOAT IN MY INBOX?? Ugh your mind I can already feel the ideas in my brain
Pompous
The doors slid open with a hiss, and your head snapped up from the page you were reading on the hybrid common room couch, waiting for the kids to come back from their recess outside. It was hot out on the island today, and unlike the hybrids, the heat bothered you, so you preferred to have your peace and quiet inside while you could. You'd expected to see the hybrids with Dame and Arthur, but you instead looked up to see with a happy spring in his step-
"You won't believe what the day has brought me today," he started, already displaying that theatrical boyish demeanor that made your shoulders sag. You were no stranger to how he acted, being subjected to it during meetings whenever you had to spectate, nothing to do but watch him essentially do everything he could to simultaneously flaunt his control and piss off everyone in the room.
He wasn't terribly personal with you, not interacting with him very often, you knew everything about him because he flaunted it, as well as being required to know certain things being his employee and all, while he knew you by face and by proxy, oftentimes having you, Kirsh, or Atom stand in for things whenever he couldn't be bothered to show up and deal with people. His little pawn to call upon and perform at his beck and call. A more degrading job than you'd like. For now, all you could do was close your book, sit up a bit, smile, and put on your best behavior until the storm that was Kavalier blew over. And it was approaching. Quickly
"And what would that be?" you answered, your eyes locked on his as he drew closer.
He grinned, flopping down with a loud sigh on the spot next to you, robe pooling around him like water, and you could feel the heat of him from how close he was to you, and he knew it too. Knew that he was just close enough for it to bother you, more likely than not taking satisfaction from it.
"Well," he started, propping himself up on his elbow, purposefully stretching out with a loud groan, "I managed to close a deal on the hybrids." This made you arch a brow, retorting flatly, "you mean Kirsh or Atom or whoever managed to close a deal on the hybrids." This made his eyes light up, the rare occasion where his employee dared to nip at the hand that payed them. It wasn't the intellectual stimulation that he craved by any means, but he enjoyed the intervals of moxie that some people provided him. If ever. He sat up in a flash, pulling you up by your arm a bit more harshly than you thought he could muster, wrenching you close, speaking in a more playfully hushed tone, "What's that supposed to mean?"
Even this early into it you were losing your patience, sighing out of your nose with a bit more attitude than you intended, which he noticed, his eyes boring into yours. "I mean, I know you," you stated, "well enough that you're not one to close your own deals." His brows went up at that, a quirk of his lip briefly ghosting his face when you added, with quite a bit of a tone," I'm surprised that I wasn't the one doing it for you myself today."
You didn't realize your little slip-up until he did a little soft exaggerated gasp, "ooh," his brows shooting up for a split second, followed by a ghost of an elated grin, his hand tightening on your arm that made your stomach drop, adding a tight-lipped, "sir." A weak try to cover up that severe, acutely hot-blooded display, and you both knew what it was the second the words left your lips.
Jealousy.
Childish jealousy. Hidden under wraps you would consider pretty well, but your cheap boast got the best of you, letting the one person you didn't want knowing slip a peek. And to your dismay, he loved what he saw, his hand on your arm sliding to splay his fingers along the middle of your spine, his grin widening as his other hand snaked to your hip, too close to your lower back. He knew it was due to his hands still being a bit cold, and he relished the shiver that racked your body, the tremble beneath his fingers.
He inhales, deep to conceal the tiniest groan that threatened to flow from some deep part of his chest, drawling, "I could tell you meant that," and ever so lightly, in tandem with his coos, he squeezes. God, that smugness he gains when you jolt in his grasp, burning in his eyes and behind his voice, made you want to slap him. Hard. Until he bled. You only give a displeased grunt in response, brows furrowed, and the look is only fuel for Boy Kavalier.
His hold on your lower back tightens, insistently and with surprising strength, purring "But don't you worry, honey," pressing you forward with enough force to bend, forcing your hips to meet fully flush against his. The hand he has planted on the base of your spine presses to hold your chest against his, watching the way your face contorts, brows straining as you mentally try to keep up, a startled gasp once he starts to move your body with his.
The front of your body never leaves his; he moves you into a dip, "It's all in the things you don't say." And smoothly at that, like both bodies had muscle memory of the action. You feel hot shame crawl down your spine and past your stomach at the guilty thought, and it forms in a wetness in your underwear when he winks at you from your clawing at his shoulders to keep yourself steady. There's a lot that races through your mind as he stares down at you, your chest pressing into his enough to send tingles through you every time you take a breath.
He's warm.
Dizzyingly warm.
It's when he presses harder, squeezes harder, leans forward, making sure to stop when his lips are millimeters apart, his warm breath fanning across your mouth. Gone was the grin he sported before, a silent face studies yours, taking in everything before him, whether feel or sight, and he suddenly doesn't look so boyish anymore. Now more like the young man he is. One that wants. One that needs and feels, and he feels so much bigger against you now, a solid body against yours that contrasts your weaker state, still feeling a bit stunted under him from the way you're forced to cling to him.
More heat blooms, dripping in your core down into your toes, and you're begging he can't feel the soft, hot pulse that feels like a storm forming between your legs. Your breath shakes, eyes widening as his rove over your face, and your heart rams inside your chest, which you know he can feel, and you mentally curse yourself when your eyes drift down to his lips, knowing he saw.
You could leave if you wanted. You were sure of it. You could say no, and you were sure he would listen. He wasn't a monster of that degree, wielding his power over others in a different way, yet here you stayed, willingly in his hold. Skin prickling from the way he squeezed, pulling a soft sigh from you when his hand started to gently rub back and forth on your lower back, pulling you impossibly closer.
So soft his hand moved, back and forth, back and forth, and you involuntarily melted against him, letting his body heat loosen the tenseness in your body like he untyed a knot in your body only he knew was there. The sound he draws out of you when his face travels, nudging his nose into your neck and inhaling, letting out a low groan that tickles your skin with its heat, electricity bolting straight between your legs, and you fight the urge to wrap a leg around him.
It comes out broken, weak, utterly helpless, "Sir?"
He huffs, a hideously conceited crinkle in his eyes that makes you really feel like it was a mistake, to admit to the the Boy Genius that he's having an affect on you. It makes you feel so thrilled and yet so sick to your stomach. It's a sick secret wish of yours. That he'll give you his full attention, keep touching you like this, keep holding you close. And you swear, maybe you're imagining it- there's something pressing into your-
"God, I am the richest-" he shouts, his hands lifting and abruptly hoisting you off your feet, and you're forced to clutch at his shoulders,"richest man, God, honey", he spouts into the crook of your neck. Your legs swing as he twirls you in a circle. He's holding you by your hips, and it's such an exhilarating feeling that you surprise yourself with the loud, raw laugh that bubbles out of you. It's an adrenaline rush when you do it-you can't help it, but you know that's probably what he was searching for- to be able to coax it out. And it's knocked out of you when he flops you down on the couch, hard enough to shock you but not hurt, and that innocent moment dissipates like flicking on a light. Gone.
He breathes it, "God, you have no idea."
He's hovering over you for a brief second before he has his full weight on you, and his fingers start poking and prodding at your sides, incessant and aggressive. He doesn't even need to have your arms pinned; you can't move and he made sure of it, tickling you to his heart's desire while you squirm and writhe underneath, screaming and laughing in protest. He's laughing, watching you twitch as his fingers press into your ribs and the soft flesh of your waist, watching your grin widen to the point of your face hurting, your shrieks growing louder.
Soon, you're panting under him, red in the face, floundering under him like a fish in a net, and he can only love it, watching the way your eyes squeeze open and close, the way your skin prickles, the way your chest moves with laughter, teeth flashing at him. "Stop, oh my god, stop!" you squeal, grabbing at any part of him you can get a hold on, pushing at his thighs, chest, anything, praying he'd let up.
He doesn't.
His lips latch on your neck, leaving little nips at your flesh, prying out a strangled noise from your throat mixed with laughter; foreign to you as he goes lower, leaving a trail of pure heat against your skin as his fingers continue their ministrations on your sides.
"Wait, wait!" you stutter, laughing, "wait!"
It was accidental, the way your hips push up into his, a last resort to get his weight off of you. Little did you know was that in the heat of the moment it would cause a spark of pure need. There's a loud, guttural noise, and your eyes snap to attention, the most embarrassing part of it is being you don't even know who it came from, a forming weight in your chest that feels like a like of bricks landed on you.
It's quiet after, only broken by the rush of blood ringing in your ears and the sound of ragged panting as you look at each other. You're struggling to understand whats happening and what it is you're feeling when it hits you- you didn't imagine it. There's something pressing into your pelvis, and your eyes flit down down for a second before your name falling from his lips makes you hone back in, and he smirks knowing he caught you red-handed sneaking a guilty peek.
"Honey, you have no idea."
This time, the nickname drags the tiniest little pathetic breath from you, the heat in your core becoming more and more unbearable by the second, your underwear noticeably sticky and uncomfortable, making your brows furrow. The weight on top of you feels good now, compared to its previous caging feeling, and you feel guilty for wanting more, just barely moving your hips before he moves for you. His hand slides up your thigh, leaving goosebumps in its wake, and you can't tell if it's from the touch or his unwavering gaze that shoots straight to your core. Sliding up, he shifts his hips up a bit, leaving just enough room to pull your thigh out from underneath and hook it around his hips.
This is your chance and you take it, using the leverage to flip him underneath you, and he grunts when his back his the couch, grinning. It's contagious and you grin back, huffing between giggles, "Really? You're gonna fucking tickle me?" As if to just make sure he's getting under your skin, he laughs, hands flying back to your sides to wrench more laughter from you as your body tries to arch away, your hands grabbing at his to try and keep him at bay.
With enough strength, you finally manage to pull his wrists away just enough to find relief before he flips you back over, pinning you with his hips again and restraining your wrists with one hand, that grin ever-present. He only laughs as you struggle underneath him, relishing the sight of you gritting your teeth in your effort, "Fucking," and he leans in close to your face, licking a hot stripe up your cheek. It makes your eyes briefly squeeze shut at the sensation, nearly screaming before you twist your hands out of his hold shoving his unrelenting hands away and-
Crack
You freeze.
Never in your life did you ever expect to wind up full-strength slapping Boy Kavalier across his fucking face. Neither did he. For once, someone had been able to render him speechless. A pin could drop, and it would hit like thunder rattling in the room compared to the stomach-dropping silence that engulfed it.
Your arms are hovering, and you don't know what to do. You can't tell what he's thinking, terrified that you've made him mad. He's going to fire you. Send you home. Or maybe toss you into some deep hole where no one will ever find you as punishment. Then he'll throw away the hole. He's completely silent, this unreadable look etched on his face, and he's just... staring. It makes your heart pound.
It takes a few tries, your throat working against sudden dryness while your eyes dart between his. He's smiling, and it's embarrassing the way it makes you briefly mimic. You shouldn't want this; you're supposed to be professional, keep a straight face, do what you're told. Having him on top of you like this feels better than it should; the solid warm press of him is clouding your judgement. You're not thinking straight, and you both know it when he tilts his head. He's waiting. "I-I-don't-" you breathe, your voice cracking, followed by a small noise, "I don't-"
"Then don't, honey," he grins, his soft breath fanning over your lips, leaving tingles in its wake on your skin, "this is the first time you've snapped- and I mean really snapped."
He hums, and you watch him tilting his head, sparing a shameless glance at your lips, and his eyes flit back to yours in an unspoken question. "I just didn't think it would look this good."
Hands. They come up your sides, squeezing the fat of your hips, and he lets you hook a leg around his hips when he leans closer, closing the space between you. His lips are smooth, his chest presses against yours, and he's still so warm, even when his robes envelop you. It shoots tingles all the way down to your toes as your other leg comes to rest around him.
Kavalier chuckles when he fully presses his length into the seam of your legs, your aroused pulse fueling to a roar and you moan weakly when he kisses you harder, body going lax under him. One of his hands slides up the base of your throat, resting for a moment between kisses before it grasps at your jaw, holding firm, but not enough to hurt, and it has your mind narrow down to him. Only him. His warm hand tips your head to the side, kissing and nipping at your neck, maneuvering you into the kiss the way he deems fit. A shudder wracks through you at the sensation, and when your hips buck up into his, you feel his chuckle reverberate against your chest while you're softly panting moans in his ear, and god, he's so hard.
After a point, you've had enough. You're nearly dripping, grabbing at his shoulders, pulling him, insistently wanting to have his face up with yours, and he seems quite content with taking his time with the soft skin of your neck, but obliges to your little pleas, slowly coming up to your level. He isn't there for two seconds when you pull him down, practically devouring him with a greedy kiss, grinding your hips up into his, and this time, you pull a noise from him. It goes straight to your head, an eager hand only pulling him harder by the back of his neck, and you enthusiastically swipe your tongue across his bottom lip in sync with a soft, keen moan into his mouth that jumbles his thoughts.
Once again, he indulges you, letting you roll your hips up into him in a tantalizingly slow rhythm, and he works to match it with his mouth, winding his tongue against yours, the wet sound of lips parting making your ears burn. Your legs are locked tight around him, holding him close to grind your hips into him with an aggression that surprises even the Boy Genius. It's when you grip his neck, letting out a particularly filthy moan into his mouth, that he decides to stop despite your ability to make his head swim like he's nearly drunk, pulling back despite his body screaming in protest at the intense, angry throbbing that feels everywhere under his skin. You let out a particularly displeased sound when he pulls away, and he almost feels pity.
There's a string of spit when he leans back to hover above you, punching a gasp out of you at the sight, and he flashes a smile that feels so obscene to you, but a bit too tight for his liking, too prideful to admit he'd take you then and there if it weren't in the common room. He'd rather have to all to himself in the control of his own quarters, have your touches, sighs, everything, all to himself. With hidden reluctance, he slowly sits up, watching the way you gape at him, mouth open, wide-eyed, as he lowers your thighs from around him, crawling off of you. When his feet hit the floor, the look on your face nearly makes his heart clench from how pathetic it is.
"Aww," he coos down at you, "I know, honey, I'm sorry." He starts to walk past you, soaking in the way your eyes start to water as you twist on the couch to keep him in your line of view, still subjected to the rush of adrenaline that he knows he gave you. The inhale you take is sharp, chest trembling. You want to scream at the fucker. Getting you into the most disheveled state at his hand, just to smugly snatch it out from underneath you. You're about to open your mouth, give that bastard what for, maybe even get in a good punch in the jaw if you can, when he walks back to you, leaning down to hastily grab you by the jaw and drag you into a rough kiss that you don't expect.
Eagerly, you lean into his touch, but after maybe five seconds, by the time you move to lace your fingers into his hair, he pulls back, and you think he's going to leave. The longer he stares, the more he seems to have changed his mind, and then leans back to give you a last chaste kiss before he straightens up and walks off. With a sigh, you let your eyes close, your head falling back against the cushion while you prepare to ride out the feeling buzzing under your skin until the hybrids come back when Kavalier's voice makes your eyes snap back open, smiling at the words.
"Death Be The Penalty (produced by 4th Disciple)" by Shabazz The Disciple featuring Kavalier
“So come on and swing it low sweet chariot, pick up your righteous load and yo then carry it, to a new home, and identity, for my peeps, death will be the penalty, uhh, and for my folks I mad love, keep your eyes on the prize and you'll rise above, and yo Shabazz, make sure you sing it loud enough, peace-ing out to the righteous stay rugged & rough, and y'all get on down, come on now get on down, swing it low sweet chariot, get on down, come on now get on down swing it low sweet chariot” -- Kavalier
Kavalier WIP while I rewrite the shit I have in my drafts because it's literally not making any sense when I proofread it
A/N: Ok ok so Ive been seeing the show Ice Loves Coco trending and omg that man loves her down and listens to even the most mediocre stuff she has to say so I was thinking...
Imagine you're Kavalier's like,,, little house pet, but more freedom to move around. I think it's best he's like 3-4 years older than in the show. Maybe by then he'll have mentally developed a little bit and gotten his medication routine under control, and can actually socially sustain himself, but even that's rare. But dont get it twisted
Still possessive, still demanding, still asshole-ish
But anyway, imagine you live on the island with him. No job, free to move around so long as you stay out of the way when important things happen, keep your mouth shut about certain things like you'd even care, blah blah blah
He lets you have basically whatever you want, clothes, shoes, games, toys, makeup, furniture, you name it. Compared to how much be has you don't even make a dent in his pocket when you go on even your biggest shopping spree.
Seeing the way he behaves, I doubt sex would be a big thing with him. I imagine it's kind of like if you want it, he's the man in the relationship, all you have to do is ask and you can get anything you request. Although, if you don't want it, he will never pressure you or even bring it up.
Amd even if you were to wear a crazy skimpy outfit, he never points it out unless you want him to, and always looks you in the eye and carries on like everything is normal, cause to him it is. Idk he just doesn't strike me as a very sexual creature. ( I see him as incredibly annoying and twinkish, no offense.)
Day to day walk around the outdoor parts of the island and care to maybe the gardens, learning how to take care of the flowers and fruit trees so you don't just shop and rot your brain for the rest of your stay there. Anyone can spot you because you have your own personal style, all spent of Kavalier's dime while you indulge in horticulture little by little.
Shit I'm getting sidetracked. But ANYWAY, what if he comes back to his quarters after a day of who cares, sees you sitting cross-legged on his bed in just your underwear, with all shapes, sizes, and colors of like lip glosses or something just absolutely swamping you. To the point you can hardly see the bed
He trots over, kneeling down to your level while you look beyond deep in thought. "Whats all this?" You spread your hand over the selection in front of you. "Im trying to find a color for the party tonight and I don't know what to pick," you whine. His brows shoots up as he scans the plethora. At first he thought maybe you wanted off the bed, if you moved countless tubes would spill off everywhere.
"The one at that tiny little bar in New Siam?"
"Yeah, Joe invited me cause he likes it there and I wanna be nice. You don't exactly do that," you challenge, shooting him a look. He ignores it. "Well it depends on what you're wearing. And what makeup you're doing." It seems like you've caught him in a good spot today where his medication is actually agreeing with him.
"I'm just wearing black, and shoes I can walk in down there. I don't know if anyone will spill anything on my foot like last time." Kavalier rests his chin in his palm, "Well black goes with literally anything, hon. What do you need my input for?"
"I mean in the sense of like, what, glitter, frost, metallic, matte, what? I need a second opinion, this is serious." He looks at them a bit longer before asking, "what kind of jewelry do you plan on wearing? Whatever you have, pick a lip color that goes with it."
"I havent picked out jewelry either. "
He sighs out of his nose. "Is it the black backless outfit?"
You look at the ceiling thinking, pursing your lips," Yeah probably, I couldn't decide on anything else." He looks down, tracing his fingers over the tubes of product, hearing them clack as they turned over. "Wear some of that antique acrylic jewelry," he stood, your eyes following him, "I havent seen you wear it in a while. And whatever you pick for the lips should have a bit of glitter. Maybe a darker color around the edges. No pink."
A smile crept on your face as you watched him cross the room and plop down at his desk, propping his feet up. "The rest I'll leave up to you," he finished, not looking at you as he pressed a couple commands with his toe. You liked it when he gave the idea of control when it still kind of always up to you.
You immediately leaned over the side of the bed, pulling the wicker tote basket you had closer so you could visually eliminate the colors that didn't apply, swiping and dropping them inside with noisy clatter. You didn't notice him watching you, practically leaning his neck backward off the headrest of his swivel chair to silently observe your little quest take shape.
Although still several dozen you managed to narrow it down significantly. Now he was watching you contemplate, tongue between your teeth as your eyes darted between choices. Back and forth back and forth. When it started to take too long for his liking he added, "make sure it tastes good."
That's when your eyes lit up, and you snatched one up, tucking it into the waistband of your underwear and standing up on the bed with an exaggerated groan. He watched you step down, quickly disappearing into his bathroom. Gone for maybe a few seconds, he hears you shout, "Oh my god! Wait!" before rushing back out of the bathroom completely nude.
Bolting over to him you practically throw yourself into his lap, and he spreads his legs to get you better situated. "I forgot to tell you," you grinned," guess what I learned today." He huffs with a light smile, his hands coming up to anchor themselves on the fat on your hips while he studies the shine in your eyes. "I don't know, honey," he replies, his hands wandering up to your waist, giving the occasional squeeze that sends tingles down your spine, "what did you learn today?"
Whatever it was he was certain he already knew the little factoid floating somewhere in his mind, but for your sake he'd let you indulge in "teaching" him. It was just easier that way.
Twisting a lock of his hair in your pointer finger, you grin, "those apples you like so much," watching it spring back into its natural state when you let go, "they're part of the Rose family." He leaned into your hand, slotting his face into the crook of your neck, silently signaling you to continue fondling with his hair.
"Really?" he murmured with a light lilt, lips grazing your pulse point when he spoke, forcing a giggle out of you at its tickle. "Really," you answered, "and there's over 7,000 different kinds." When your hand wandered to lightly pull the hairs at the base of his skull it earned a pleased rumble from him. Your head tilts down, and your brows knit together.
"Are you even listening to me?" you demand, which he only responds to with a chuckle. "Anyway, most of them," you continue, rolling your eyes, "are grafted, not planted via seeds." With a hand under his chin you tilted his head up towards yours, finishing with, "To get the desired traits, you see." His eyes looked nothing short of glistening, and you lean down to lightly peck his lips.
"Yes, I do see," he said, squeezing your ass a tad harsh, "now, are you gonna start getting ready for that party? I believe I've done my part."
"Fine, whatever," you scoff, quickly easing off of his lap and heading back towards the bathroom. "Unless you want to shack up with me," you hear him laugh, "where you can humor me with your new findings all night!" When you start pulling on your outfit, looking at your reflection sparks an idea to poke the bear. Indulge in one of his good moods where he actually gives a shit- or at least acts like he gives a shit about what you're talking about while it lasts.
"You know, you don't have to listen to my fun facts if you don't want to," you shout, "maybe Joe will find them more interesting!" After you zip up you add when you start moving onto your hair, "maybe even Kirsh!"
"Kirsh would only listen to you because he has to. And as for Joe, he couldn't satisfy your needs of he tried, honey. He doesn't have the budget."
You bite back and absolutely wicked smile. "Just thought I'd make a suggestion," you mumble to yourself.
His next words carry a hint of permissive warning. "Whatever fun facts you throw their way, honey, just know I'll be watching."
Giving a few swipes of the color you picked out on your lips, you gave yourself one last once-over before leaving the room.
"I'm counting on it. I'll make sure to give you a show," you declare, stepping out of the bathroom and towards your closet. An extra room had been added just for your personal belongings, and you fished through your drawer for the earrings Kavalier told you to wear. You worked them onto your ears, moving to slip the matching bracelet on.
"Ah, see," he confirmed, swiveling in his chair, legs still spread when you stepped out. "I knew those would look best. As expected," he declares, letting silence settle as you stand, letting his eyes rove over your figure.
He pats his thigh. "Come here."
You come, taking your place back on his lap, smoothing a hand across his chest as he takes a breath. Palming at your hips once again, "give me a kiss." Not a request. You lean down, ready to give him another small peck when he startles you with a hard grip at the base of your skull. He wrenches a small noise out of you as he insistently sought his lips against yours, smooth and warm, but undoubtedly unkind. But you quickly adapted, your free arm snaking around his shoulders, reciprocating his roughness.
He bit your bottom lip with a certain cruelty, and you knew it was over the comment about Joe and Kirsh- putting on a show for Kavalier- as if he'd ever let you. It wasn't until you felt that familiar warmth in your belly and wetness at the apex of your thighs start to form when Kavalier finally let up. He pulled away, gloss smeared all over his lips and yet so smug at the way you looked so breathless.
He smiled, pleased, smoothing down a stray hair of yours, with a graze that mocked kindness. "See," he purred, his eyes over your parted panting mouth, "tastes good. You picked the right one." His hand sneaks around to the base of your throat, pulling you in for another kiss, and you mentally kick yourself when you know it's to feel the way your heart beats like a caged rabbit.
The gloss. He wanted one that tasted good.
When he pulls away he spectates your state, cocks his head. "Now," he speaks, an unmistakable exactness in his tone, a severity in the way his other hand moves to your ass again, and both points force a strangled moan out of you when he squeezes.
"Are you going to behave yourself tonight?"
Screwing your eyes shut you croak out a, "Yes," feeling a shameful stickiness under your clothes. There's a kind of terrifying hollowness behind his eyes, the way he just looks at you, and it makes your hand move over his, gently pawing in a subdued request for him to let go, but he keeps waiting, and your brows knit together when he lowly presses above a whisper, "are you?"
Immediately you nod, and he quietly relishes the way you seem so quiet now compared to earlier, breathing out, "Kavalier, please." And that was all it took, his grip on your throat easing off ever so slow, the hot and cold rush of blood that drips down your chest is welcome, the warmth dripping down into your abdomen.
With a shaky breath, you go still, trying to process what just happened and ride out the rush of endorphins. He lets you for just a moment before he raises a brow. "Well," he scoffs, patting your thigh, "upsy-daisy. You have somewhere to be, don't you, now?" He says it like it's the most obvious thing and the world and that you're stupid to not be motivated to move. Like what just happened didn't happen.
'I'll have you escorted down," he says flippantly with a wave of his hand, "and I'll have one of the synthetics keep an eye on you for the night."
Nodding again, you slowly stumble off his lap, hating the way he watches you struggle to stand like a newborn animal. Sighing, you smooth your hands over your outfit, your mind storming with the fact of being watched by a babysitter all night while he turns his back to you in the chair, you doing the same and trudging off towards the door. Atoms emerges from- wherever it is that he waits dormant, ready to put in his credentials on the elevator when Kavalier's voice calls, and he stops.
Suppressing a sigh with a look of pure dread directed at the floor, you spin on your heel to see Kavalier approaching, and you fear what's coming next. "You forgot something," he said, dangling the necklace that went with your set from his pointer finger. "Silly goose." Just to get it over with, you hold out your hand, ready to take it and get the hell away from him when he snatches it out of reach. "No, no, allow me," a false display of chivalry crawling out of him like a parasite.
"But it doesn't go with my outfit," a weak attempt at leaving faster, "it looks better with nothing in the front."
He cocks his head at you, giving you an incredulous look. "Well, frankly, honey, I don't care. I want you to wear it. I'll flip it around to your back if it'll make you happy- but you're wearin' it."
Your pout, brows knitting together at his relentless need to have control- get the last word.
"Fine." You turn, giving him your back and feeling the freezing acrylic brush the middle of your spine before seeing his hands come underneath your chin to do the clasp. The immediate shadow of him looms over your right side, barely whispering, "No stunts tonight," pressing a chaste kiss to your pulse point, "and don't even think about taking this off." Another kiss. "Or I'll make sure the bed is the next place you stay for three days." Another kiss, and the feel of his palm on the small of your back, moving lower for another possessive squeeze at your ass. "Okay, honey?"
You hum weakly in response and he pulls away. As Atom opens the elevator and you both step inside, you try to think of what you keep your mind on that'll quickly elevate your mood before you meet up with Joe for your night out, and not the fact that you know Kavalier put a tracker and possibly even a bug in the pendant of your necklace.
Maybe some fun fact about planting mangoes or something will interest the both of you, and keep your brain satiated for the night, not having to think about your invisible cage.
A/N: okay so I planned on keeping this relatively positive but apparently I can't view Kavalier as a good person because this turned darker than I initially anticipated. Hope you liked it! Constructive criticism is welcome!
Kavalier y Clay: Showtime reanuda la serie basada en la novela de Michael Chabon: cancelación + renovación de programas de televisión
Kavalier y Clay: Showtime reanuda la serie basada en la novela de Michael Chabon: cancelación + renovación de programas de televisión
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por Jessica Pena, 11 de diciembre de 2019
Las increíbles aventuras de Kavalier y Clay finalmente llega a la pantalla. Variety Reports Showtime ha elegido un nuevo programa de televisión basado en la novela de Michael Chabon.
La historia sigue a dos primos judíos que se convirtieron en figuras centrales de la nueva industria del dibujo animado en Nueva York antes de la Segunda Guerra…
