"Doesn't count, huh?" Catholic ingenuity at its best. He lets his thumb sink deeper as Ronan pushes back against him. Kavinsky leans over Ronan and plucks up the lube off his nightstand. His head is buzzing and everything feels electric as he dribbles lube between them, making an obscene mess of it as he slides his cock through it,
He slips his thumb out and replaces it with a slick finger, and just a few breathes later, a second. He moves them lazily, looking for that spot that he knows will make Ronan feel good. He wants him to feel good.
"Fuck," Ronan hisses, pressing his forehead to the mattress as he pushes back to take that finger deeper. His body sways as he begins to fuck himself on it, incremental and experimental rolling of his hips to explore how much he can take.
Then the tip of Kavinsky's finger brushes just the right spot and it's like a fuse being lit. He gasps and seeks it again, spreading himself wider because one finger isn't enough. He grunts impatiently, "Quit fucking around."
Any more prepping and Kavinsky will go soft before Ronan gets to have him.
Kavinsky pulls back, slips his fingers free and he strokes lube over himself. He'll fucking die if he loses his erection before he gets this. He leans over Ronan as he pushes in. The obscene amount of lube help but he still feels tight and he drops his head down, forehead resting against Ronan's back as he sinks as deep as he can.
"Oh fuck--" His mouth hangs open and he pushes his hips against the curve of Ronan's ass like he can somehow get deeper. "Ronan--"
Ronan's breath hitches sharply. Though he's the one who demanded it, the sudden stretch and ache of Kavinsky filling him is a shock he didn't quite expect. Every muscle in his body goes tense and he squeezes tight around Kavinsky's cock, locking him in place.
"Oh, God," he gasps, shivering like he's too afraid to make another move. All he does is cradle Kavinsky inside him, stuffed to the hilt with him, overwhelmed by the intimate vulnerability of their two bodies becoming one.
For a minute it's just the two of them breathing. Kavinsky doesn't move other than to slide his hand along Ronan's side. He tries moving his hips just a little, breath catching at the resistance. "C'mon," he sighs as he runs his hands over Ronan's back, over his his hips and back up along his ribs. "C'mon, sweetheart."
He waits as long as it takes and when he can, he rocks his hips back, drawing out a couple inches before he sinks back in, nice and slow. It's agony and it's ecstasy and Kavinsky never wants it to stop.
Gradually, Ronan relaxes enough to allow for this careful movement, though he tenses all over again as Kavinsky moves to sink back in. A low moan escapes his throat. One hand seizes at Kavinsky's hip, ready to shove him away at any moment, but not yet. Not yet.
"Wait," he whispers. "Wait."
But those words seem to be meant for himself more than Kavinsky, as if he's trying to talk himself out of something and failing miserably, because in the next moment, he rocks back to take Kavinsky completely into him. Rather than throwing Kavinsky off of him, that hand encourages another slow thrust. And another. With each one, Ronan relaxes just a bit more.
Kavinsky groans when Ronan grabs his hip but he waits until he feels his hips push back and, as far as he's concerned, that's permission to move again. He keeps up the slow, easy thrust of his hips, never pulling back too far before he sinks back in. Ronan feels like a fucking dream and Kavinsky never wants to wake up. He wants to devour him whole.
"That's it, shit." He tips his head back but not for long. He doesn't want to miss a second of this and he lolls his head forward again, dark eyes intense as he focuses on the place where their bodies meet. He wants to commit this to memory. As Ronan relaxes, Kavinsky experiments with giving him longer strokes, pulling out further before he pushes in again.
Ronan says it doesn't count since he's already gotten off. Kavinsky wonders if it counts if he gets fully hard again while he's buried in Ronan's ass.
It's not long before whether or not this counts no longer appears to be a question in Ronan's mind. He seems to be savoring this just as much as Kavinsky is, his voice thick with lust every time he moans in answer to being filled again. As Kavinsky drags further and sinks deeper, the sounds leaving Ronan draw out longer, louder. He's forgetting himself, forgetting everything but the feeling of being claimed.
"Harder," he breathes, so low that the word is nearly lost amid the other sounds of ecstasy. He swallows and tries again, his voice shuddering with the request, "Do it harder."
He's dreamed of this, of those words falling from Ronan's lips. Kavinsky pushes himself up so he can get more power behind each thrust, fucking into Ronan harder, faster. This is how it could be all the fucking time if Ronan would just--
Kavinsky's hard again and all he wants to do is fuck until he comes, he wants to spill inside his dream body instead of across his skin.
"You feel so fucking good."
He wants more. The ravenous thing inside him has been given a taste and he needs more. With a sharp, frustrated sound, Kavinsky pulls back - pulls out - and wrestles Ronan onto his back. He wastes no time pushing back in, thrusting hard as his eyes lock on Ronan's face.
Ronan lets out a startled cry, thrown out of the delicious rhythm they'd been building toward only to find himself landing on his back. The instinct is to claw and fight, but just as he's seizing Kavinsky by the shoulders, Kavinsky's shoving his way back inside. Ronan's fingers temporarily lose their grip. He's paralyzed by the confusing and humiliating shock of being taken while Kavinsky is staring right into his eyes. It's like been cracked open, every one of his defenses ripped away, leaving his expression raw and vulnerable.
There's no disapproval in his body, though. Ronan's hard as a rock, ready to burst at any moment. He spreads his legs and forces himself to relax, easing Kavinsky's access though he can clearly feel this is leading somewhere he swore they wouldn't go. Kavinsky's getting stiffer, not softer. They're already beyond the pretense of preserving Ronan's virtue.
"This wasn't supposed to be for you," Ronan sighs, nearly mournful. Yet his blunt fingernails dig into Kavinsky's skin, dragging him closer.
For a moment he can't talk. He's dreamed of this, exactly this, since he set eyes on this boy. It only got more intense after he realized Ronan is like him. Seeing him cracked open now makes something inside him fracture, too. Kavinsky keeps moving, slower and deeper than a breath ago.
He wets his lips as Ronan's nails dig against his skin, dragging him in until they're as close as two bodies can get. The words sink in like pins; he tries to laugh.
"Yeah," he breathes. "Yeah, I know."
But he doesn't apologize. He can't. Kavinsky sinks down down and runs his fingers over Ronan's hair.
Ronan lets the silence linger in the wake of those words. The only sounds to fill the space are the rustling sheets and Ronan's short gasps every time Kavinsky sinks into him.
Then he reaches up, palming Kavinsky's cheek before taking him by the chin to redirect his gaze. Their eyes meet again for just a second. Ronan pulls him in for a kiss. It's the stuff of fantasy, as heated and wanting as any kiss a dream would have given him. His whole body surges into it, hips rocking up to swallow all of Kavinsky and hold him deep inside.
He doesn't close his eyes at first, quietly disbelieving as their lips meet. But as Ronan tries to devour him, Kavinsky's eyes drift shut and he pushes into the kiss, meeting Ronan's full-body demand with fierce passion. He grinds their bodies together, barely pulling out anymore. Ronan's cock brushes his stomach every time he moves and he's content to stay low, teasing his dream boy with fleeting friction.
Kavinsky's hand drifts down Ronan's face to rest on his neck. His thumb brushes Ronan's pulse, feeling thunder beneath his touch. He never wants this to end.
It has to end, though. For Ronan, at least. There's only so much his body can take and it's this intimacy, apparently, that's enough to finally make him let go of whatever inhibitions he'd still been clinging to. The kiss and the combined sensations of rutting up against Kavinsky and being filled with him and connecting with him in every possible way all work to push him over the edge.
Ronan moans without pulling his mouth from Kavinsky's, lips parting and dragging against lips. His entire body quakes with his climax, his spine arching and his hands grasping to make sure Kavinsky isn't thrown from him in the midst of all this violent shaking. Wet heat fills the tight space between their bodies, his cock pulsing in bursts against Kavinsky's skin until he's drained dry, until Kavinsky's taken everything from him.
Kavinsky gasps sharply when he feels it start. He lets go of Ronan's throat to reach between them, wrapping his fingers around Ronan's cock as he comes between them. Kavinsky strokes him through it, watching Ronan's face through it all because he will never get enough of seeing him falling apart like this.
He's trembling finely by the time Ronan seems finished, full aroused again and desperate to come. He stops stroking when he's sure Ronan has nothing left to give and he lifts his hand to his lips to lick his fingers clean. Then he kisses his dream boy, pushes his tongue into his mouth to share the taste as he moves his hips in short, deep thrusts. He wants to fill him, he wants to find his release buried like this.
Everything feels too sensitive now, drawing soft pleading sounds out of Ronan, as if he's on the verge of begging Kavinsky to stop. He doesn't, though. Instead, he takes Kavinsky's tongue into his mouth and suckles it and greedily drinks down the traces of his own seed.
Filled from both ends, Ronan trembles with every thrust. Each shiver threatens to become a jerk back, a fight to break free, before he writhes closer instead, changing his mind over and over again. Like he can't bear to pull himself away from Kavinsky, even when he knows he should.
Ronan moving toward him and pushing away again is an apt summary of their-- whatever. Kavinsky chases him every time, moving faster, harder as he builds to his own release.
"You feel so fucking good," he murmurs, breathless. He grabs Ronan's thigh and cradles his head; his eyes close when it finally hits him and he curls over Ronan as he pushes deep, as he spills inside him. "Oh fuck--"
He rocks his hips a few times, shivering as the sensitivity ramps up. Kavinsky sinks against Ronan, finally still as he tries to catch his breath.
Ronan's body goes tense in Kavinsky's arms as it becomes clear he's hit his peak. His hands press against Kavinsky's ribs, like he's willing himself one last time to push Kavinsky away before it's too late.
But it's already too late. Kavinsky floods him with seed, taking him for his own, and there isn't any point in pretending Ronan was ever going to belong to anyone other than him. He slackens when the rush is over and the two of them collapse against the mattress, his eyes staring past Kavinsky to gaze up at the ceiling.
Kavinsky slumps over Ronan. He doesn’t want to pull out, he doesn’t want to be separate. That leaves room for a hundred things to come between them. Like this, there’s nothing but skin and breathing. He brushes his fingers along Ronan’s cheek and kisses him again.
“Stay,” he murmurs. Whether he means in his bed or in a contact doesn’t really matter. He wants Ronan; he feels like he has always wanted Ronan.
Ronan makes no move to separate. His legs close around Kavinsky, instead, hugging him by the thighs to keep him safe inside. In answer to that plea, Ronan kisses him again. Tender and reverent, the way he'd kiss Adam. A kiss that tells a sweet lie the real Ronan could never bear. But Kavinsky doesn't know that. Here, in the fantasy, is a Ronan who would let him inside and choose to stay.
When the kiss finally breaks, Ronan whispers like a secret, "Let's dream again. I wanna fall asleep like this."
The reverence is mutual, at least. Kavinsky touches Ronan like a holy thing now that they've been defiled. He adjusts his weight to settle more and his nose brushes against Ronan's cheek as he whispers about dreaming.
"Let's go, sweetheart." But he doesn't reach for any pills. He feels heavy-limbed and sated in a way he hasn't since arriving here. He could fall asleep like this, without substance intervention.
He sinks down, finding a way to rest his head against Ronan's shoulder.
There's a feeling like fog lifting and Kavinsky doesn't want to pull away, but he does push himself up and-- it's not Ronan beneath him. He jerks back - pulls out - and nearly falls off the bed.
That's a considerably stronger reaction than Ronan had in the same situation. Adam lets out a cry of alarm as Kavinsky throws himself back, retreating also, until he's huddled up by the wall with his knees drawn up and his eyes wide. He's braced for Kavinsky to come at him, though that had been the very outcome he'd been trying to avoid in giving Kavinsky a taste of the same fantasy Ronan had.
He's too startled to come at Adam but it does cross his mind. He sits there at the end of the bed, trying to grasp at the living dream that was Ronan Lynch beneath him, wanting him, openly wanting him. Kavinsky pushes his fingers through his hair.
Adam's crammed against the head of the bed and wide-eyed like Kavinsky just turned into someone else.
He knows Adam can do some kind of magic shit. He didn't know he could do that. Ronan was never here. Kavinsky doesn't know what offends him more: the lie or the loss of control over reality.
And by the tone of Adam's voice, he seems to expect a thanks instead of outrage over it. He realizes it must be a disappointment, of course. No one would want Adam when they could have Ronan, just as Ronan had been similarly disappointed to find Adam instead of Kavinsky. But the pleasure that both of them seemed to find in imagining each other rather than him, even for a little while, ought to be more than enough to make up for it.
"Oh fuck you, Parrish. You gave me a fucking lie."
He should have known a forgery when he saw it - how did Adam make him believe it? Kavinsky looks at him and he rolls forward, stalking up the bed to close the distance between them.
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He slips his thumb out and replaces it with a slick finger, and just a few breathes later, a second. He moves them lazily, looking for that spot that he knows will make Ronan feel good. He wants him to feel good.
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Then the tip of Kavinsky's finger brushes just the right spot and it's like a fuse being lit. He gasps and seeks it again, spreading himself wider because one finger isn't enough. He grunts impatiently, "Quit fucking around."
Any more prepping and Kavinsky will go soft before Ronan gets to have him.
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Kavinsky pulls back, slips his fingers free and he strokes lube over himself. He'll fucking die if he loses his erection before he gets this. He leans over Ronan as he pushes in. The obscene amount of lube help but he still feels tight and he drops his head down, forehead resting against Ronan's back as he sinks as deep as he can.
"Oh fuck--" His mouth hangs open and he pushes his hips against the curve of Ronan's ass like he can somehow get deeper. "Ronan--"
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"Oh, God," he gasps, shivering like he's too afraid to make another move. All he does is cradle Kavinsky inside him, stuffed to the hilt with him, overwhelmed by the intimate vulnerability of their two bodies becoming one.
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He waits as long as it takes and when he can, he rocks his hips back, drawing out a couple inches before he sinks back in, nice and slow. It's agony and it's ecstasy and Kavinsky never wants it to stop.
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"Wait," he whispers. "Wait."
But those words seem to be meant for himself more than Kavinsky, as if he's trying to talk himself out of something and failing miserably, because in the next moment, he rocks back to take Kavinsky completely into him. Rather than throwing Kavinsky off of him, that hand encourages another slow thrust. And another. With each one, Ronan relaxes just a bit more.
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"That's it, shit." He tips his head back but not for long. He doesn't want to miss a second of this and he lolls his head forward again, dark eyes intense as he focuses on the place where their bodies meet. He wants to commit this to memory. As Ronan relaxes, Kavinsky experiments with giving him longer strokes, pulling out further before he pushes in again.
Ronan says it doesn't count since he's already gotten off. Kavinsky wonders if it counts if he gets fully hard again while he's buried in Ronan's ass.
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"Harder," he breathes, so low that the word is nearly lost amid the other sounds of ecstasy. He swallows and tries again, his voice shuddering with the request, "Do it harder."
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Kavinsky's hard again and all he wants to do is fuck until he comes, he wants to spill inside his dream body instead of across his skin.
"You feel so fucking good."
He wants more. The ravenous thing inside him has been given a taste and he needs more. With a sharp, frustrated sound, Kavinsky pulls back - pulls out - and wrestles Ronan onto his back. He wastes no time pushing back in, thrusting hard as his eyes lock on Ronan's face.
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There's no disapproval in his body, though. Ronan's hard as a rock, ready to burst at any moment. He spreads his legs and forces himself to relax, easing Kavinsky's access though he can clearly feel this is leading somewhere he swore they wouldn't go. Kavinsky's getting stiffer, not softer. They're already beyond the pretense of preserving Ronan's virtue.
"This wasn't supposed to be for you," Ronan sighs, nearly mournful. Yet his blunt fingernails dig into Kavinsky's skin, dragging him closer.
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He wets his lips as Ronan's nails dig against his skin, dragging him in until they're as close as two bodies can get. The words sink in like pins; he tries to laugh.
"Yeah," he breathes. "Yeah, I know."
But he doesn't apologize. He can't. Kavinsky sinks down down and runs his fingers over Ronan's hair.
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Then he reaches up, palming Kavinsky's cheek before taking him by the chin to redirect his gaze. Their eyes meet again for just a second. Ronan pulls him in for a kiss. It's the stuff of fantasy, as heated and wanting as any kiss a dream would have given him. His whole body surges into it, hips rocking up to swallow all of Kavinsky and hold him deep inside.
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Kavinsky's hand drifts down Ronan's face to rest on his neck. His thumb brushes Ronan's pulse, feeling thunder beneath his touch. He never wants this to end.
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Ronan moans without pulling his mouth from Kavinsky's, lips parting and dragging against lips. His entire body quakes with his climax, his spine arching and his hands grasping to make sure Kavinsky isn't thrown from him in the midst of all this violent shaking. Wet heat fills the tight space between their bodies, his cock pulsing in bursts against Kavinsky's skin until he's drained dry, until Kavinsky's taken everything from him.
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He's trembling finely by the time Ronan seems finished, full aroused again and desperate to come. He stops stroking when he's sure Ronan has nothing left to give and he lifts his hand to his lips to lick his fingers clean. Then he kisses his dream boy, pushes his tongue into his mouth to share the taste as he moves his hips in short, deep thrusts. He wants to fill him, he wants to find his release buried like this.
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Filled from both ends, Ronan trembles with every thrust. Each shiver threatens to become a jerk back, a fight to break free, before he writhes closer instead, changing his mind over and over again. Like he can't bear to pull himself away from Kavinsky, even when he knows he should.
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"You feel so fucking good," he murmurs, breathless. He grabs Ronan's thigh and cradles his head; his eyes close when it finally hits him and he curls over Ronan as he pushes deep, as he spills inside him. "Oh fuck--"
He rocks his hips a few times, shivering as the sensitivity ramps up. Kavinsky sinks against Ronan, finally still as he tries to catch his breath.
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But it's already too late. Kavinsky floods him with seed, taking him for his own, and there isn't any point in pretending Ronan was ever going to belong to anyone other than him. He slackens when the rush is over and the two of them collapse against the mattress, his eyes staring past Kavinsky to gaze up at the ceiling.
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“Stay,” he murmurs. Whether he means in his bed or in a contact doesn’t really matter. He wants Ronan; he feels like he has always wanted Ronan.
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When the kiss finally breaks, Ronan whispers like a secret, "Let's dream again. I wanna fall asleep like this."
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"Let's go, sweetheart." But he doesn't reach for any pills. He feels heavy-limbed and sated in a way he hasn't since arriving here. He could fall asleep like this, without substance intervention.
He sinks down, finding a way to rest his head against Ronan's shoulder.
There's a feeling like fog lifting and Kavinsky doesn't want to pull away, but he does push himself up and-- it's not Ronan beneath him. He jerks back - pulls out - and nearly falls off the bed.
"What the fuck?"
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"What the fuck?" he echoes, defensive.
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He's too startled to come at Adam but it does cross his mind. He sits there at the end of the bed, trying to grasp at the living dream that was Ronan Lynch beneath him, wanting him, openly wanting him. Kavinsky pushes his fingers through his hair.
Adam's crammed against the head of the bed and wide-eyed like Kavinsky just turned into someone else.
He knows Adam can do some kind of magic shit. He didn't know he could do that. Ronan was never here. Kavinsky doesn't know what offends him more: the lie or the loss of control over reality.
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And by the tone of Adam's voice, he seems to expect a thanks instead of outrage over it. He realizes it must be a disappointment, of course. No one would want Adam when they could have Ronan, just as Ronan had been similarly disappointed to find Adam instead of Kavinsky. But the pleasure that both of them seemed to find in imagining each other rather than him, even for a little while, ought to be more than enough to make up for it.
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He should have known a forgery when he saw it - how did Adam make him believe it? Kavinsky looks at him and he rolls forward, stalking up the bed to close the distance between them.
"What the fuck do you know about what I want?"
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