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Adam had never considered his future relationships with any kind of patterns in mind; he had always been so focused on his immediate desires (I want to hold Blue’s hand, I want to kiss Blue’s mouth, I want to touch Ronan’s neck, I want to kiss Ronan again and again and again) that he had never bothered to think ahead. He had never thought about welcome home kisses or grocery shopping on the weekends or elbowing each other out of the bathroom. It had never seemed vital to a boy who could barely think beyond I have to get out of here.
Even so, he probably wouldn’t have imagined this would become normal to him: Ronan, head pillowed on his forearms, laying on his stomach in bed next to Adam. Both of them were slightly warm and damp from their shower, and Adam was gently stroking his hand over the black ink spilled across Ronan’s back. This happened nearly every night, Adam touching Ronan softly, tracing edges and curves until they fell asleep.
The crickets outside the farmhouse were singing loudly, a cacophony of sound that Adam had already learned to tune out. Ronan’s bedroom window was cracked open to let a breeze into the room, and to vent the summer heat that had baked into the sheets all day. Adam continued to stroke Ronan’s skin, watching his back rise and fall with his breathing. He ran his thumb along the wings of a bird, then dipped lower and lower to the veins of a leaf that ran into a symbol he didn’t recognize but thought might be Celtic. Ronan made a small sound when his fingers fell into the divot at the base of his spine, but when Adam looked at his face he didn’t say anything.
His eyes were open, watching Adam quietly. Ronan was always softer and quieter at night now. There was a time when Adam had only ever seen Ronan as alive when he was snarling his way through a shitty night -- he seemed so present and dangerous with the black edges of nighttime wrapping around him. It was different to see him in his childhood bed, the place he’d had his first kiss, letting Adam soothe him into sleep each night.
He felt so real, real in a way that Adam wouldn’t have associated with Ronan before. Adam thought he could fall asleep to this Ronan for the rest of his life, could see them stumbling into bed together for years and years to come. Ronan would always have his sharp corners and his scars and his painful past, but he didn’t cling to them anymore. Adam didn’t know how much of that was Ronan growing into himself and how much of it was Adam’s presence; he wanted to curl up into himself until he disappeared at the thought of being so important to someone like Ronan.
He parted his lips and watched Ronan automatically flick his gaze to them. He bit back a smile. “Did it hurt?” he asked, his voice muted in the quiet expanse of the room. They hadn’t spoken since they’d fallen back into bed, their knees knocking together until Ronan had rolled over onto his front and Adam settled in next to him. This routine had never called for conversation before, but Adam had always been curious about Ronan’s tattoo, and after spending so much time touching it, he thought it probably wasn’t that strange to ask.
Ronan’s mouth quirked. “Yeah,” he said, voice raspy -- his ribs moved under Adam’s hand as he spoke. He was so warm under Adam’s palm. Adam wanted to live and die touching Ronan. “It hurt like a bitch.”
Adam could imagine. It was not just a big tattoo -- it was dark, heavy lines twisting and curving into each other. More of Ronan’s back was ink than pale skin, and it wrapped around the sides of his stomach in areas and crawled up his spine onto his neck; it crept around his shoulders to the tops of his arms. It sometimes felt like it was growing, like every time Adam took the time to really examine it, it had changed.
“I’m picturing you white knuckling it but refusing to make any sound,” Adam told him, pleased when Ronan huffed out a laugh and shifted slightly. He turned to the side just a little, so Adam’s hand was curled around him, still resting on his back.
“I didn’t cry, if that’s what you’re trying to ask,” Ronan said, reaching for Adam’s other hand and lifting his shoulders in a half-shrug. He threaded their fingers together and kissed Adam’s knuckles absently. “Honestly I don’t remember a lot about getting it. I just wanted it.”
Adam heard what Ronan did not say. I needed it. So many parts of Ronan existed because of his grief -- the scars under his leather bands, his shaved head, his tattoo. Adam wondered if Niall Lynch could ever hope to understand the trauma he’d inflicted upon his middle child by creating him and then abandoning him. There were already so many Ronans in Adam’s head that he could not fathom the one he’d been before Adam had met him, the Ronan Gansey had known -- the Ronan with longer hair and smooth skin and a wicked, happy smile who existed only in photographs. The Ronan he held now was miles and miles away from the Ronan he’d met, but he would never be Ronan before Niall’s death again -- it was simply not possible. Adam did not know if he mourned the loss or if he was fiercely glad, because he deeply loved the Ronan that he did have.
He leaned over Ronan’s body and pressed his mouth to the very center of his back, where a flower bloomed out of darkness. Ronan fell onto his stomach again, so Adam kissed him again, and then again, moving his mouth in an expanding circle over Ronan’s back. Ronan shivered, then laughed a little.
“We just took a shower, Parrish,” he said, but he sounded like he was pleased. His back arched a little under Adam’s hand, and he let out a low sound when Adam kissed the top of his neck, and then hissed as his lips dragged down his spine to the base where the tattoo ended. Adam considered for a moment and then flicked his tongue down into the crack of Ronan’s ass, just at the top, and then laughed when Ronan swore and bucked up into his face.
“Jesus Christ, Ronan,” Adam said, rubbing his nose. “You could sit still through a tattoo but not that?”
Ronan’s face was flushed, but Adam didn’t know if it was embarrassment or arousal. “The tattoo artist wasn’t trying to eat me out,” Ronan said darkly, and Adam’s entire body went hot like he’d been thrust into a fire. He couldn’t even see for a moment, like his vision had been whited out by lust. When his eyes cleared and his fingertips stopped tingling, he turned a contemplative gaze onto Ronan.
“That wasn’t eating you out,” he said slowly. “But I can definitely show you the difference.” Ronan made a noise -- surprise, maybe, or amusement -- and then he groaned loudly as Adam pushed him flat and spread his cheeks.
Ronan was clearly trying not to move too much, but his body was still shaking slightly; he was a little red around his rim from earlier, but all of the lube had been washed away during the shower. Adam gave them both a moment and then leaned down and blew over Ronan’s hole, just once, and then flattened his tongue over it and started to lick.
Ronan buried his face in the pillow to keep his words muffled, but he was loud despite the barrier. Adam was grateful that Opal was asleep downstairs on the couch, because she would definitely have been able to hear them if she had been in Declan’s room as usual. He kept licking, letting his spit slick his way and relishing the choked off moans and curse words leaking around the edges of the pillow. Ronan was pushing back onto him, and finally got his knees up underneath his body just so he could thrust back with more force. Adam kept his hands on Ronan’s ass to keep him spread open, which left no hands for the rest of his body -- he desperately wanted to keep touching Ronan’s back, to put his hands on Ronan’s thighs, on his cock, on his stomach. He wanted to sink into Ronan’s skin and live there, carried around on his body like another tattoo. He was almost terrified of his desire and love and longing; this was so much, so much more than he could have ever imagined. Love was a privilege, and he was drowning in it after living in a drought.
He edged a hand closer to his mouth and rubbed his thumb where his tongue was edging the rim, exhaling roughly when Ronan let out something that was suspiciously close to a sob.
“Adam,” Ronan said, turning his mouth to the side just enough that he could be understood. “Please.”
Adam had never been able to say no to Ronan.
He pressed the tip of his thumb in, just a little, basking in the hitching noises Ronan was making and the unending shift of his hips. Adam registered that he was hard too, but it felt separate from reality, somehow -- everything was Ronan, right now. All Adam could see was the tattoo, and Ronan’s shoulder blades, and the slick, wet sheen of his spit sliding down Ronan’s thighs. Ronan clenched around his finger, so he pushed in deeper and licked around where they were connected.
Ronan had to be sore. They’d fucked only about an hour or so before, and Adam hadn’t exactly been gentle. It was hard not to try to crash himself into Ronan’s body when he thought of the end of summer looming over him though, hard to not devote himself entirely to the act of worshiping and existing inside of Ronan. Adam had never done things by halves.
Ronan didn’t seem to care. He pressed himself against Adam over and over again, huffing out sounds that would embarrass him if he could hear himself, gasping out Adam’s name and curses in equal measure. His entire body was a gorgeous pale pink, except a few places where he was flushed a deep crimson: the tips of his ears, the top of his shoulders, his cock hanging full between his legs, the pucker where Adam was pressing a second finger.
“Fucking,” Ronan snarled, “Fucking do it, Parrish.” He sounded like a car wreck in slow motion. He sounded like he was breaking into pieces. Adam was in love with the tremble in his voice and almost ashamed of himself for it.
Adam pushed the second finger in with no warning, not bothering to take it slow. Ronan groaned low in his throat, shifting his hips until Adam’s fingertips brushed something that made him stiffen all over.
“There?” Adam asked, pressing his wet mouth to Ronan’s skin and gasping for air. It was so hot, the air was so heavy and full and he would rather die than stop touching Ronan. Was it always going to be like this, he wondered, would he always feel like his entire world was beginning and ending with this boy? He wanted it so badly.
“Yes,” Ronan said, and then continued, “Yes yes yes.”
Adam kept stroking him, putting his tongue back over his hole when he thought it was getting too dry. He could get the lube, but he didn’t particularly want that taste on his tongue, didn’t want to leave Ronan even just to reach for the bedside table. He wanted Ronan to come from his fingers and his tongue and he wanted him to come without his cock being touched. From the sounds Ronan was making as he sped his fingers up, it was definitely possible.
“Ronan,” Adam said, and he meant Ronan. “Ronan, Ronan, Ronan.” Ronan probably couldn’t even hear him over the sounds he was making, practically smothering himself in the pillow, muffling his shouts while Adam rode the motions of his body and pushed against him.
Adam pulled away from Ronan’s ass, leaned up over his body and set his teeth to the splay of a wing over Ronan’s shoulder blade, and Ronan seized up under him and cursed low and filthy and came over the bedspread without either of them touching him. Adam let him collapse under his body and let the incandescence of the moment wash over him, let himself think I did that and felt proud as Ronan twitched a little with aftershocks.
Adam worked his fingers out and tried not to be smug when Ronan instinctively rose with them, trying to keep him inside. Ronan was breathing heavily and his legs had splayed out to the side, with Adam resting between them. He looked like a mess, which should not have made Adam so viciously pleased.
Now that Ronan’s urgency had faded, Adam’s own need felt present for the first time since he’d kissed the tattoo. He hesitated for a moment and then pressed himself against Ronan’s thigh, running his hands up and down his sides. It wasn’t enough but he couldn’t bring himself to separate his skin from Ronan’s, mouthing at the side of his neck until Ronan seemed to come back into his body. Ronan turned himself over onto his back, chest heaving and mouth red from where he’d been biting his lips.
“Hang on, hang on,” he said, voice slightly hoarse. His stomach was covered in his own come. Adam wanted to lick him all over and then start at the beginning and do it again. He thought he might be going crazy.
Ronan sat up and then pushed Adam down onto his back, kissing him hard on the mouth. This was the first time they’d kissed since their shower, and when Ronan licked into his mouth, Adam tasted Ronan’s toothpaste and a bit of fuzz from where he must have bitten the pillow earlier. He couldn’t help but keen at Ronan’s hips pressing against his own, cradling Ronan’s body between his knees. Ronan was sweat damp and flame-like in his grasp, and he slithered out of the kiss and down Adam’s body like smoke. Adam barely had time to rise onto his elbows before Ronan was swallowing his cock down without preamble, gagging himself on it on purpose.
He yelped loud enough that he looked instinctively at the door, terrified Opal would have heard that. Ronan hummed angrily at him, prompting him to look back at him, before he started to move up and down Adam’s cock. Adam bit his lip and then raised a hand to his mouth and bit it instead, trying to force his cries back into his throat -- it was too good, it was Ronan’s warm mouth and his deep blue eyes and his tongue curling around the head every time he rose up and his fingers wrapped around Adam’s hips and it was too good and he was going to come, he was going to come in Ronan’s mouth, he --
He dug his teeth into his skin until he was afraid he had broken the skin and felt his orgasm hit him like a physical blow. His ears rang with the force of it and his teeth hurt where they were grinding into his hand. Ronan made a deeply satisfied noise and swallowed over and over, working him through it until Adam was shivering from overstimulation. When Adam fell back down onto the bed it seemed deafeningly quiet until the sound of the crickets rose up again over their breathing, and they lay silently for a moment until Ronan snorted.
Adam glanced at him but he buried his face in Adam’s collarbone and shook with laughter for a moment. “What?” Adam asked.
“You couldn’t get all kinky about my tattoo before we took a shower, Parrish?” Ronan said into his skin, breathing hot against his neck. Adam couldn’t see his face but he could tell he was smiling.
“Sorry,” Adam said, not meaning it at all. Ronan dug his fingers into Adam’s side because he could tell it was a lie. “Next time I’ll keep my hands to myself.”
Ronan arched his body up under one of Adam’s arms like a cat until he slid a hand down so it was resting on his back again. “Don’t bother,” he said, sounding half asleep. “I like your hands where they are.”
Adam hooked his head over Ronan’s shoulder and looked at where his hands were running over the ink again, tracing the lines of roads and vines by memory. Already the tattoo seemed a little different than it had before, but the texture of Ronan’s skin was familiar and it was easy to find a rhythm of smoothing his fingertips over the shapes over and over as their bodies cooled.
Ronan was falling asleep, or was already asleep. His chin was digging into Adam’s shoulder and his leg was heavy where it rested on Adam’s thigh; Adam continued running his hands over Ronan’s body and let himself drift off, pinned to the bed and unbearably glad for the numbness spreading over his limbs. He fell asleep between one breath and the next, sinking into dreams of building routines and patterns again and again and again.