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.
Adam squares his shoulders and lifts his chin, readying himself for a fight, now. He's not afraid of it - not the way he used to be - but he doesn't want things to take a turn in that direction. He can't promise he won't do serious damage to Kavinsky if he's forced to defend himself, and the whole reason he came here was to keep Kavinsky from getting hurt.
"It's what he wanted, too. He told me." Or rather, Ronan had told who he'd thought was Kavinsky at the time. "He would've given himself to you if you hadn't stolen him, first."
Something sharp shifts in him, cutting from the inside, as Adam's words sink in. He wants to call him a liar - either about Ronan telling him or about the sentiment - but maybe he knows some of it is true.
Would things have been different? Would Ronan have contracted with him willingly? Would he have given himself? Kavinsky looks down. The urge to kill the messenger wells up and his jaw ticks with tension. Adam's got a lot of new tricks up his sleeves.
What Kavinsky seems to be missing is the conclusion that to Adam seems the most glaringly obvious: The desire is there. The desire has always been there, between Ronan and Kavinsky, and when given the opportunity to act on his desire without consequence, Ronan had leapt at it with more passion than he's ever shown for Adam.
No one will ever feel for him the way these two feel for each other.
"Listen," Adam hisses, "he's not something you'll never have, just something you can't take."
Nothing has ever been given to him. Not love, not affection, not understanding. He's had to take it, because if he asks for it there's a chance the answer will be no, and he can't-- He can't. When something is at his fingertips, he grabs for it.
He thinks of the number times he's made himself a Ronan in dreams, only to leave him there. He doesn't want a forgery. He wants the fierce creature with a dark streak, the one that rolls up next to him on empty nights, the one that knows what it feels like to create something from nothing.
Kavinsky stares at Adam, dark and fierce and hungry.
He doesn't know why he bothers. Kavinsky and Ronan are both so determined to be miserable. As if they didn't have each other all along. Fake contract or not, the only person in the world who might have understood Adam still tore away from him and fled right into Kavinsky's arms at the first opportunity. Adam will always be alone, but as long as Kavinsky's alive, he and Ronan will have one another.
Inhaling sharply through his nose, Adam turns away and sets his jaw. "I'm gonna go now."
Kavinsky can't forget the words branded on him the day Ronan left. It was never gonna be me and you. Why is it so fucking easy for people to walk away? Adam has gotten under his skin like Ronan's under his skin and he's angry but he doesn't want him to leave.
Kavinsky moves like he might try to block Adam from getting off the bed. "You said you'd stay."
Adam stops, his gaze flicking back to Kavinsky. "You don't want me here," he says, although his inflection seems to stress only You don't want me.
Which he knows, and has known, and has accepted as the reality when it comes to both Kavinsky and Ronan. But that increasingly leaves him wondering what he's doing here, or anywhere, with either of them. Neither of them would ever choose him first.
He stares at Adam, meeting his gaze and holding it like he's searching for something.
"Yeah. I do."
Kavinsky doesn't know exactly when it happened but he can't dig it out now.
The fireworks and chaos are fading and he wants-- he wants to fall asleep listening to anything other than himself. He thinks of the pile of bodies he'd collapse into after parties: his boys, or anyone else he could grab and hold onto. Tangled limbs and quiet breathing. Not dreaming alone.
Whatever Kavinsky may be searching for, what he finds is Adam's cold determination to need nothing and no one. Privately, he vows to never look at someone the way Kavinsky's looking at him right now. He would rather spend the rest of his life alone than beg someone to stay with him.
As long as Kavinsky's insisting on his company, though, Adam intends to follow through with his original promise. He may be completely replaceable, but he's the one who's here.
Relenting, he sits back and reaches to tug Kavinsky toward him so that they can lie together. "If you hit me," he says, "I'm never coming back."
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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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"It's what he wanted, too. He told me." Or rather, Ronan had told who he'd thought was Kavinsky at the time. "He would've given himself to you if you hadn't stolen him, first."
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Would things have been different? Would Ronan have contracted with him willingly? Would he have given himself? Kavinsky looks down. The urge to kill the messenger wells up and his jaw ticks with tension. Adam's got a lot of new tricks up his sleeves.
But if he dies, so fucking what?
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No one will ever feel for him the way these two feel for each other.
"Listen," Adam hisses, "he's not something you'll never have, just something you can't take."
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He thinks of the number times he's made himself a Ronan in dreams, only to leave him there. He doesn't want a forgery. He wants the fierce creature with a dark streak, the one that rolls up next to him on empty nights, the one that knows what it feels like to create something from nothing.
Kavinsky stares at Adam, dark and fierce and hungry.
He's not something you'll never have.
"Don't ever fucking do that to me again."
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He doesn't know why he bothers. Kavinsky and Ronan are both so determined to be miserable. As if they didn't have each other all along. Fake contract or not, the only person in the world who might have understood Adam still tore away from him and fled right into Kavinsky's arms at the first opportunity. Adam will always be alone, but as long as Kavinsky's alive, he and Ronan will have one another.
Inhaling sharply through his nose, Adam turns away and sets his jaw. "I'm gonna go now."
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Kavinsky moves like he might try to block Adam from getting off the bed. "You said you'd stay."
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Which he knows, and has known, and has accepted as the reality when it comes to both Kavinsky and Ronan. But that increasingly leaves him wondering what he's doing here, or anywhere, with either of them. Neither of them would ever choose him first.
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"Yeah. I do."
Kavinsky doesn't know exactly when it happened but he can't dig it out now.
The fireworks and chaos are fading and he wants-- he wants to fall asleep listening to anything other than himself. He thinks of the pile of bodies he'd collapse into after parties: his boys, or anyone else he could grab and hold onto. Tangled limbs and quiet breathing. Not dreaming alone.
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As long as Kavinsky's insisting on his company, though, Adam intends to follow through with his original promise. He may be completely replaceable, but he's the one who's here.
Relenting, he sits back and reaches to tug Kavinsky toward him so that they can lie together. "If you hit me," he says, "I'm never coming back."
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