Ronan Lynch (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
threesecrets) wrote2021-05-11 01:16 am
threesecrets) wrote2021-05-11 01:16 am
Entry tags:
post for psls;
✞ m/m only
✞ no invitation needed
✞ feel free to just drop an idea
✞ if you wanna do adam & ronan chat me up first
✞ safeaslife#0150 or PM, at your leisure
✞ if you wanna do adam & ronan chat me up first
✞ safeaslife#0150 or PM, at your leisure
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It makes him burn.
He felt like he hadn't earned it, like he should ask before pressing for the things that he ached for. But for as calm as he seemed, there were flames in his heart, just beneath his skin. Because he was still Ronan even after two hundred years. ]
Fuck, K--
[It's like there's something he means to say, something that he wants him to understand, but it isn't in words. It's like something shifts, like Ronan can't help himself, and for a moment his blues are looking at the other boy like he's maybe the only thing left in the world that still matters to him. Like Kavinsky is a spark and Ronan catches fire with it.
He grabs his shirt in his other hand and walks him back a few steps, shoving him up against the wall- careful there was nothing behind him. He doesn't explain, he just kisses him before Kavinsky can say something, ask him what he's doing. Because Ronan doesn't quite know himself, he just needs this, he needs him, he needs Kavinsky in ways that are hard to articulate or explain. There's this connection between them, this line of ley line energy ever since Kavinsky woke him from his dreams... but it isn't why he kisses him.
He's wanted it for so much longer, for hundreds of years, since before the war, when he was just a boy in awe with the idea that it was possible to dream a whole car, when he'd just been a boy that loved cars and his brothers and racing Joseph Kavinsky. He'd never allowed himself to think too much on the details of that last point, because it was so big it terrified him. Now he loves Kavinsky so much it feels like having his heartbeat in someone else's chest, and he can admit that, at least to himself.
So he crashes them up against the wall, crashes their mouths together, hungry and desperate. Unlike Kavinsky, Ronan absolutely is touch starved, and it probably shows in how he drags a hand up the side of his face, how he shakes before he even kisses him. How he whines into the kiss, their hips slotted together, something about the way that Ronan kisses him is filthy, suggests more than just a kiss.]
Is this okay? I should've--
[When he parts to steal a breath he can't help asking, but then he shifts so he's curling fingers at the back of K's neck, and he kisses him without really finishing the sentiment or giving him time to answer. I should have asked being what he means, but they've never really been boys that asked nicely for anything, so maybe this isn't particularly unexpected in the ways that they hooked into each other. Ronan nips at the other boy's mouth, the slight press of his tongue against the line of his mouth like a request and an invitation. His other hand goes to his hip, slipping a finger into the belt loop of his low-slung jeans, his thumb tracing against the border of fabric and skin like a promise.
He sorta wants to just shove his hand down his pants, but he's trying to give Kavinsky a moment to breathe, to be sure this was okay first. But fuck, he's like a drug, a contact high every time they touched and he just wants everything he'd been too much of a coward to admit that he needed. That summer when he'd just been terrified of the fact that he wanted another boy, that the boy was Kavinsky, and that he wanted him to fuck him so hard he forgot how to breathe.
He'd wanted him with every awkward and stumbling adolescent feeling that bloomed into teenage desire. He'd been so sure he was doing something wrong, so sure existing was wrong. Now-- he was still willing to burn whatever world didn't want them, if it came down to it.]
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For a moment, Kavinsky's heart felt like it did something funny, like the sort of feeling he got from street racing- except this was a better high, a better everything. Ronan was pressed all up against him and it was better than anything he could have hoped for. They said time healed all wounds but Kavinsky had never gotten over Ronan, never stopped wanting him. He'd tried to tell himself that there were plenty of other people in the world, in his life, and that he could do better than Ronan but it'd always felt like a lie. There was no one who was better than Ronan.
He whimpered, just once, into the kiss, skin heated where Ronan touched him. He even tried to chase his mouth when he pulled away- it took a moment for him to process the question. But then he didn't have any time to answer before they were kissing again and that was okay. Everything was okay. He wrapped his arms around Ronan, one hand shoved under his jacket to clutch at the back of his shirt, the other cupping the back of his head.
It didn't take much to set Kavinsky off, and fuck but Ronan was like a wildfire right now, igniting everything in his path. Kavinsky wanted him desperately, wanted his hands on his body, his mouth, skin on skin. But more than that, he wanted-]
Please, tell me this isn't a dream.
[He pulled away just far enough to speak, breathless but not overwhelmed, desperate for this to be real, for Ronan to really, genuinely want him. He wouldn't be able to stand it if this was just some spur-of-the-moment thing where Ronan was lonely and wanted someone. Kavinsky had tried to give him everything before; he'd give him everything again if he could. He'd treat Ronan like a king, he just- he needed this to matter.]
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But then there was that request, so vulnerable that it makes him want to kiss him all over again. But instead he leans their foreheads together, close enough to kiss him, but not closing the distance, just breathing in the intimacy of the proximity. He's reminded of course, of that summer when he was seventeen. Of how he would have flinched from this, lashed out at those sort of words. He'd come so close to losing him, too stupid and caught up in his own feelings to worry about it until it was nearly too late. He hadn't been able to say the right words, the truth that Kavinsky had known, even in their dreams.
He lets his hand shift from the back of his neck to cup against the side of his face, his thumb tracing against the line of his cheekbones.]
It isn't a dream. In my dreams I can never hold onto you. I-- want you, K. It's been so long.
[It felt like it was probably obvious, but those coarse thoughts of the Forth of July were a sharp reminder that he needed to say it out loud, that Kavinsky needed to hear it. His touch against his face was soft affection, but Ronan rolled his hips against the other boy like punctuation, because he was embarrassingly hard in his jeans just from kissing him.
It was like he was trying to tell Kavinsky that he wanted to kiss him, and he also wanted him without his clothes on, he wanted everything. He hadn't been brave enough to own his own desires all those years ago. The very idea of sex, of a dream where they kissed without their clothes on, would make wake gasping with euphoria before it melted into disgust with himself. The sort of shame that would last all day, like someone might know what sort of pervert he was just by looking at him.
Now he didn't care. He hoped Kavinsky could tell how much he yearned for him, that he wasn't ashamed of it, had learned things about himself walking through his dreams for so long. He wouldn't leave him in his rearview mirror, even if he could. Even if working through this was difficult, even if it meant having to convince Skov and Prokopenko and Swan and Jiang that this would be different, that he was willing to fight for Kavinsky.
He kisses him again, tender but with that same sort of needy desperation, that same way that it's not-quite sweet, that Ronan is too hungry for him, and can't help but make it filthy. His hand on his hip slipping his fingers into his jeans, just to touch against his skin. But it's also a touch like a promise. He hadn't known how to want these things back then, but he does now. Fuck, but he aches for him now.]
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Ronan wanted him. He'd dreamed about Kavinsky. K didn't care that it'd been over two hundred years and that the world was ravaged and scarred- it was better late than never. Besides, the time had passed in the blink of an eye for him. That summer was still relatively fresh in his mind but so was everything he felt for Ronan. He couldn't ignore it; he couldn't deny it.
He swallowed around the lump in his throat.]
I want you, too. I never stopped wanting you.
[And fuck, Ronan wasn't the only one who was hard. The only thing overwhelming in this moment was how much Kavinsky wanted him. The way Ronan touched him was- it was almost more reassuring than his words. He tipped his face against Ronan's hand, nuzzling into his palm. He wasn't touch starved but this was different than with Proko or any of the others.
Pushing his hips against Ronan's, Kavinsky kissed him back, more desperate than tender because it was hard to balance the two things right now when he wanted him so much. But- he loved Ronan, he knew he did, even if it felt way too soon to actually say it out loud. It wasn't like they barely knew each other, it'd just been so long. Kavinsky didn't just fall in love, he didn't think he'd ever loved anyone before Ronan but- it was such a strong feeling.]
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[He murmured the words against his mouth, pressing kisses to his mouth, heated and needy. He was desperate for him and he didn't care if it showed. He moaned helplessly as Kavinsky pushed his hips back into him, and Ronan took it as invitation to just shamelessly grind up against him, just to feel something, just to feel him.
Even if it was just the friction of how their erections pressed together through the layers of their jeans. It was almost too much, almost overwhelming. Rough fabric and the soft cloth of his boxers, and the friction of how they pressed together. Then Ronan was trailing kisses down his jaw and the side of his neck, wet and with just a slight tease of teeth; not enough pressure to mark his skin, but just enough to make sure he felt it.
His hand shifting, undoing the button and then the zipper of his jeans, and he didn't even really stop grinding against him until he had his hand in his pants, until he was shoving his pants down just enough for Ronan to curl his fingers around the thick girth of his cock. He cursed just from the feeling, the warmth and the heat. And fuck, fuck but it had been so long, and Ronan should have done this so long ago, and it's been so long since anyone had touched him and he has to press his face into Kavinsky's shoulder to steady himself, because he wants to cry just from how much he wants him.
Instead of crying, he just wraps his hand around his cock, firm and tight as he slides his hand up and down. He strokes him a few times before sinking to his knees. His blue eyes on Kavinsky's, and he doesn't break eye contact, not even when his knees hit the floor. Not even when he keeps sliding his hand over him, rather insistently jerking him off, leaning in so that he can fit his mouth around the head of his cock. Ronan letting his tongue slide over skin, desperate to feel him like this. He whimpered audibly with how good it felt, better than anything just to be able to touch him, taste him. To know he wouldn't leave.
He wanted to take all of him into his mouth, maybe even slide him down his throat, but he was so desperate for everything he couldn't get his brain to realize that meant he had to stop touching him first. So for the moment his mouth just trailed after his fingers. He was on fire, felt like he'd burn everything he touched, but Kavinsky had always been burning too- he thought that he could take it.]
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He groaned against Ronan's mouth when he grinded against him, hand sliding a little lower down his back. It was nothing compared to when Ronan got his pants open and his hand in his boxers and- Kavinsky wasn't usually so affected by these sort of things but his pale skin was flushed and he felt a little weak in the knees. It was a good thing he had the wall behind him to help hold him up. He would have laughed at the way Ronan swore if Kavinsky himself wasn't so tangled up in the feeling of his hand on his dick. Instead, his eyes fluttered shut for a moment and then he was peering at Ronan through his dark lashes.]
Oh, fuck.
[It was something like a gasp or a murmur as Ronan got down on his knees, Kavinsky only letting go of his shirt with great reluctance. It took a lot of effort not to just put his hands on Ronan's head and push him down on his cock, but he managed, even if his hands shook a little. He didn't want to ruin the moment- and what a moment this was shaping up to be. He'd figured there'd be a lot of talking, explaining, maybe they'd get angry with each other- not this. This was something out of his wildest dreams.
He moaned, utterly shameless, as he kept eye contact with Ronan. Honestly, he was so turned on he wasn't sure how long he was going to last with Ronan's hands and mouth on him. But he didn't want the other dreamer to stop, either, so he did his best to hold together the scraps of his self-control.]
Fuck, Ronan.
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It hadn't seemed like Kavinsky would complain.
He keeps looking up at him, a bright glimmer in his blue eyes, and maybe something rather like a smile, despite his mouth being currently wrapped around the other boy's cock. Ronan wasn't particularly inclined to pull back, to let K slip from his mouth without a very good reason. He does eventually figure out that he has to pull his hands away if he wants to really take him in his mouth, letting them drop away to rest on his thighs. Not touching himself, but close enough it wouldn't take much to undo his jeans. Mostly he doesn't because much like Kavinsky, he's already almost on edge with how turned on he is. And he doesn't want to get himself off before the other dreamer.
He loves the way that he moans, the way that Kavinsky watches him. Fuck, but this is impossibly hot. He already wants to do it again-- and again and again and... Okay, so the truth is that he doesn't want to stop. He wants to stay and he wants to spend a day where all they do is eat and breathe and figure out how their bodies feel when they fit together. Not that he thinks this world will give them the luxury, but he still wants it.
Kavinsky cursing and moaning his name is something he wants etched in his brain forever, something he wants to know so well that he could dream it. How it tastes and feels and the weight of it. Not because he wants to copy it in his dreams, but just because he wants it memorized. He wants to know it like a truth. He murmurs in response because it's really the easiest sound to make without pulling away.
And he wants to take him all the way down and see what sort of sounds he makes then.
But it's been a while since he's done it outside of a dream; two hundred years, plus-and-minus a century or two, depending on how dreams parsed the years. So it's not quite graceful, not like something out of the porn that Ronan had never been brave enough to watch. But he slides down on him, letting the thickness of his cock bury into his mouth and he whines around him, because it's different, better, it's Kavinsky. He takes him too deep too fast and he gags at first; not enough to make him stop, but his blue eyes water and his throat flexes around him.
Fuck, he should have done this before everything went to shit. He should have gone down on him in the Mitsubishi after they raced, when he showed up to his movie nights more for Kavinsky than because he was interested in what they were watching, at the parties that made him burn. Should have touched him every single chance he had, and K had given him so many chances, he'd just been oblivious, trying so hard to deny what he felt. He reaches up to catch Kavinsky's hands, tugging them up to his scalp like an invitation. And then he tries to angle himself a little bit better before trying to slide all the way down.
Filthy, sure, but it feels like something perfect. K's cock saliva-slick under his tongue, and he just wants more, wants to give him everything.]
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He didn't give a single flying fuck how graceful or whatever Ronan was; he wasn't here to critique his methods, he was here to- fuck. With Ronan's guidance, he slid his slightly trembling hands to the back of Ronan's head, not pushing, just touching for the sake of it. Whimpering in the back of his throat, he almost told Ronan not to push himself too much, not to make himself uncomfortable, but Kavinsky was very rarely the voice of restraint and that wasn't going to change right now.
Instead, he shifted his hips forward a fraction, fingers petting across Ronan's scalp. Everything about this moment with the two of them was perfect. The world might have been in shambles but fate or something had brought them together again. He didn't even care if he'd dreamed Ronan at the moment; he was too caught up in the moment, wrapped around Ronan's finger.]
Ronan.
[It was a gasp, breathless, because he was spiraling ever closer, brain fuzzy with pleasure, skin heated. His world had shrunk down to only include the other dreamer; everything else, for all intents and purposes, didn't exist.]