abraxaslogs | i am attracted to what we are unraveling.

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i am attracted to what we are unraveling.

WHO: Ronan Lynch & Rhy Maresh
WHAT: Ronan runs into Rhy for the first time since their bath.
WHERE: The stairwell to the Castle Thorne dormitories
WHEN: A morning in early January
WARNINGS: Totally NSFW.

There are probably rules about how to behave after a spontaneous threesome with your lover and a stranger in a public bath. Ronan was just never the kind of person who would learn them. Before his entire life went to shit and his ex-boyfriend sold him out to his would-be murderers, Ronan had imagined a quaint and holy life for himself, private and devoted to his one-and-only. Not even college adventures were in the picture for him. Cruising and hooking up at parties were simply not his thing.

So he has no idea what to do about Rhy. For several days after the Dimming, he lets the question hang in the air. His significant injuries give him a good excuse to stay out of sight, but it starts to get weird after the healers have administered their final treatment and there's no more reason for him to stay in bed. By then, it already feels like it's been too long to check in. He's aware that avoidance and continued silence are jackass moves, but how exactly does he start the conversation? "Hey, Rhy. Remember that time we fucked in the bath? Let's hang out sometime." No way.

Especially because he's not sure they should hang out. Retribution for his sins had come swiftly after that night. If one violation of his covenant had nearly gotten Kylo killed, he doesn't want to imagine what fate will do to him if he fucks up again.

But he can't put it out of his mind. Rhy seems to be everywhere: down the hall, across the library, a few tables over at dinner. And every time Ronan sees him, he can't help but look. If he'd been attractive before, Rhy is magnetic now. Their encounter hasn't left Ronan satisfied, it's only made him hungrier, and if Kylo isn't there to distract him, what else is he supposed to devour with his eyes?

On the morning Ronan is finally forced to confront Rhy, it's because there's no one else around to shield him. He's headed up to his room to change out of his fighting gear after a cold and muddy training session, and lo, there's Rhy in the stairwell, headed the opposite direction. To breakfast, Ronan assumes. And he can't just turn around and flee, so they lock eyes, and Ronan opens his mouth like he's going to say something as he passes.

Then he shuts it and keeps going.

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It's not that Rhy hasn't noticed, but he also hasn't had much of a chance to do anything about it, either. After their (mildly put) encounter in the baths, both Kylo and Ronan had gone off on that mission to the Singularity, and after that, it had been difficult to arrange to meet either of them on any basis that could be waved off as casual. Considering how awkward and avoidant Ronan's been acting every time they're even in the same vicinity, Rhy had decided not to intrude while he was recovering from whatever had happened on the mission, knowing only that Ronan was injured and needed his rest.

Seeing him up and about the castle again -- and decorated handsomely for his efforts, even -- has been a relief. But once again, Ronan seems to shrink from him and find somewhere else to be whenever Rhy thinks he might be able to steal a moment alone with him.

It leaves Rhy some odd, endlessly irritating mixture of worried and deeply annoyed.

When they do finally meet alone, it is utterly by chance. And Rhy is intent on not letting this chance pass him by.

"Ronan." He reaches out to grab the other man's wrist as he attempts to pass, still needing to move too close in the narrow space.

"If I've done something to offend you, I'd appreciate being told upfront. What is it? Out with it. I'm not in the mood for guessing games."

"Shit," Ronan hisses under his breath, but he comes to a stop as soon as Rhy's hand closes around his wrist. He takes a moment to school his features, but when he turns his head to look back at Rhy, his pale cheeks have flushed a deeply embarrassed red.

"You haven't done anything."

Now the rest of him turns to face Rhy properly. The space really is too tight for the both of them to be standing like this, Ronan being oversized for the stairwell even when he's not dressed in leather armor and a soggy cloak. Of course they'd run into each other like this while he smells like a wet dog. Ronan's gaze lands immediately on Rhy's mouth, which does not look very happy with him, but all he can think about is stealing a kiss from it. Though he leans in a bit closer, he's thankfully not stupid enough to try... yet.

"I'm an asshole. People usually know that before they decide to fuck me. Do you know what it's like seeing you every day and knowing the second I open my mouth, you're gonna regret everything? I'm trying to keep the dream alive."

When he's able to catch Ronan's wrist without much resistance, Rhy does not release it. His fingers curl, not too tight but certainly firmly enough to be felt, and stay there, holding onto him as though concerned that Ronan might try to bolt if he lets go.

His lips purse, then press together wryly. He barely resists the urge to roll his eyes.

"Funny how I don't remember thinking anything of the sort. But if you say so, then apparently that is just how things are. Good thing you've already made the decision for me, Ronan. It certainly spares my feelings, knowing I'm going to regret speaking to you, and thus deciding, apparently, not to bother trying at all. I know it's been so very difficult for you to see me, knowing I've already decided to regret it."

Ronan's eyes flick down to his wrist, which Rhy is still holding onto for some mysterious reason. He doesn't attempt to shake off that grip.

"Actually," he drawls slowly, "I was trying to spare my feelings. And it looks like I wasn't wrong about pissing you off as soon as I open my mouth."

He looks at Rhy again, a sardonic little smirk tugging at his lips. It is, indeed, an expression worthy of an asshole. But it's tempered with the very Celtic blush of his cheeks, which betrays both his sheepishness at getting called out and whatever it is he's feeling about Rhy holding onto him.

"What I'm trying to say is you're real purty and that turns me stupid."

"Very stupid," Rhy agrees with a sigh.

He uses his grip on Ronan's wrist to leverage him closer, tugging at the same time as he steps forward, pushes himself into Ronan's personal space. If he's turned off by the dirty armor or the sweat, he doesn't show it in the slightest.

"I don't want to spare your feelings," he says bluntly, golden eyes holding Ronan's gaze.

"I want to see you again. I want to get to know you. I want to learn your hobbies and what kind of books you like to read, what foods you like and dislike, what you think of courtly gossip, and to have a conversation, a real one. You are smart and well-respected, powerful, and yet you hide. You slink away rather than look at me."

His voice softens, brows drawn tight. Rhy releases his grip on Ronan's wrist when he realizes he's started to squeeze tighter.

"I don't expect a lover. I know it was just a bit of fun. But I was hoping, perhaps foolishly, for a friend."

Ronan's newly-freed hand darts out to take hold of Rhy's hip. Now that he's come close, Ronan doesn't intend to let him escape. "You're friend-zoning me after all that?" he scoffs, though he doesn't expect Rhy to get it.

He presses forward, easing Rhy back against the wall simply by taking up all the surrounding space. His eyes move over Rhy's features, not at all afraid to look at him now, drinking him in after so many days of gazing from a distance.

"I'll spend all day looking at you if you're not careful," he threatens as he bows his head, almost as if he might steal that kiss after all. "That's the problem. Why I have to run and hide. We can talk about anything you want, but I'm still going to be thinking about the next time I can touch you. Is that a deal-breaker?"

It's unexpected. Thrown off-balance -- figuratively at first, then literally by Ronan's body pressing him back against the wall -- Rhy just stares at him a moment or two, disbelieving. What an infuriatingly confusing man.

No, he has no context for the term, but he sort of gets the intention, that it's a joke, and that Ronan is taking issue with the term friends, in particular. Rhy doesn't push back or try to free himself. He tips his head up slightly to meet Ronan's eyes as the relief washes over him, loosening the knot between his shoulder blades.

He laughs.

"I fail to understand how any of that is a problem. If you wanted to touch me, you merely had to ask. And if you wished to spend all day looking at me, you knew where to find me all along, you silly man."

Edited 2022-01-25 08:26 (UTC)

Of course Rhy would fail to understand. The problem is Ronan's virtue and the precedent he'd accidentally set when he made an invitation Rhy was never meant to accept. Because he doesn't know how to have just a bit of fun, but he belongs to someone else, but he wants to be much more than a friend to Rhy. Obviously, abstinence is the best way forward. Unfortunately, Ronan has never been very good at that.

"Sometimes I come on too strong," he says, delivering the understatement of the century. Rhy seems to be enjoying this much more than the ghosting, though, which means Ronan has nothing to hide behind. When it's up to his willpower alone, resisting temptation simply isn't something he can do.

"Can I kiss you?"

Rhy has not come to fully appreciate what an understatement it is, but that's all right. He doesn't mind. He, himself, comes on too strong for a lot of people. Honestly, he kind of likes being on the receiving end.

He leans up, his free hand settling on Ronan's hip.

"I wish you would."

Thank God.

Ronan promises himself he'll make confession later, though if he had any real sense that Kylo would object to this transaction, it wouldn't be happening at all. The sole obstacle has only ever been Ronan — and the curse that he may or may not answer to later.

Let off a leash no one was holding, he surges forward to take his prize. He's hardly had a moment of peace since he got his first taste of Rhy, almost every minute that hasn't been spent fighting for his life or fearing for Kylo's instead devoted to wrestling with his conscience. So much had been promised in their fleeting time together, and all Ronan could think about was collecting.

Despite his eagerness, his kiss is gentle in its heat. He only has a vague sense of what Rhy might allow or care for, and a very clear awareness of how spectacularly he could fuck this up. One hand cradles Rhy's face while the other traps him close. He thinks he might have seen a painting like this once, some Renaissance shit, which makes the moment feel that much more romantic.

But what he really cares about is the plush softness of Rhy's lips against his own. He'd been too overwhelmed in the bath to appreciate them the way they deserved. He works his mouth against them so he can truly feel them now, dragging one kiss out to two or three, until he's forced to take a breath.

Ronan is the strangest blend of straightforward and shy, and Rhy finds him utterly intriguing. He wraps his arms around Ronan's neck, reaching up to rest his arms across his shoulders and arch up when the other man presses close. Without Kylo to provide an additional perspective with how fucking big he is, Rhy realizes Ronan is actually taller than he thinks. More solid.

He groans, softly, an encouraging noise against Ronan's lips. Breathless and eager, he doesn't try to pull away, not until Ronan does first and they're both left panting. Rhy licks his lips, lower lip pulled between his teeth as he peers up at Ronan through his lashes.

"I'm glad you're feeling better. I heard you were injured. I was worried."

When they part, Ronan stays close, touching his forehead to Rhy's even though he has to stand halfway on a lower step to do it. He runs his hand along Rhy's side, an idle exploration, enjoying the privilege of touching him now that he knows he can.

"Some bitch stabbed me," he says, making it sound a whole lot less scary than it actually was. "I got over it pretty fast. Our healers are awesome."

"I'm glad you're safe, Ronan. Truly."

Rhy closes his eyes briefly, enjoying the gentle contact, the touch along his side, Ronan's warmth.

"I have been learning to heal," he admits, a little... shyly, almost, uncertain. "It's been slow going. But I have a talented tutor. It isn't magic I ever thought I could hold."

He doesn't get into why. Instead, he softly asks, for the first time:

"What happened out there?"

It's been some time now, but the truth is... he doesn't really know the details. He didn't go. He knows those who had gone had been attacked, and that many had returned injured, but the business with the Singularity has been more or less resolved. The magic -- most of it -- was delivered.

"I heard you have been decorated with new honors."

Before coming to Abraxas, Ronan had known very few humans who could hold magic. He could have counted them on one hand. So the only thing he finds odd about Rhy's admission is the fact that he mentions it at all. He doesn't ask what Rhy means, though. As a keeper of secrets, Ronan rarely goes digging for others'.

"Venerable," he confirms with some amusement. "In my world, you have to be dead before you can get that title."

Ronan is also pretty sure it's not a title the Church awards to abominations. He finds new ways to be grateful to Thorne every day.

"Solvunn and the Free Cities sent agents to stop us. The one who stabbed me was convinced it was the Singularity that summoned her, not humans, and that's why she hated it. Fucking idiot."

"Lucky it's not the same in this world."

Rhy slides his hands down the fronts of Ronan's shoulders, not to push him away, but merely to... touch him, smoothing his palms over his chest like he's trying to fix Ronan's rumpled cloak.

"I had heard. More or less, but not-- exactly. When you and Kylo returned and I heard you'd been injured, I was worried." But he hadn't wanted to interfere, knowing there was nothing he could do, that there were better people who actually knew healing, and weren't struggling through figuring out how to close a paper cut like he is. (Of course, those people had trained all their lives, and Rhy didn't even have magic until two months ago.)

"Then, you were avoiding me."

It comes out a little whiny, some of the hurt bleeding through, but it seems he's already well on his way to forgiveness, judging by the way he's drawn Ronan against him.

Ronan won't make any excuses. Rhy's right: It was shitty of him. And it feels extraordinarily stupid in hindsight, considering the way they're wrapped around each other now, like they've been lovers for years instead of under an hour.

"I wasn't thinking."

A common problem with him. No matter how many people waste their lives worrying about him, the possibility never occurs to him in the moment. Neither does any sense of self-preservation. He's been considerably more anxious about making an ass of himself in front of Rhy than he was about marching off to battle.

Luckily, Rhy isn't angry enough to push him away, so Ronan tucks his face into the crook of his neck and lays a kiss below his ear. "Sorry," he murmurs into Rhy's skin.

"I'll insist you make it up to me. Several times," Rhy warns. His thumb rubs Ronan's shoulder, and he lets his head drop back against the wall with a soft thud. His eyes close, enjoying the closeness. The desperation has faded -- the Singularity, Stephen had said, somehow -- but the truth is that Rhy had barely even needed that push. Whatever it had meant, it doesn't change anything about how he feels now.

Kell always told him he loved too easily. That it got him hurt too easily in turn.

But this isn't love. Ronan is just here, and so is Rhy, and they are here together. Far from home. Rhy's seen more of him than anyone else in this lonely palace, and it ties them together in a way he can only crave more of. It isn't fair, how blue his eyes are. Rhy's always been weak to eyes like that.

"You smell like wet dog," he murmurs after a moment, the humor back in his voice.

The purr that rumbles in Ronan's throat doesn't begin to express the excitement that order inspires in him. I'll insist you make it up to me. Several times. It's exactly the proposition he'd been hoping to hear, which is precisely why he'd avoided this for so long. In part because he'd been afraid Rhy wouldn't say it. In part because he might.

"And here I thought you were attracted to my manly musk," he replies, pressing a couple more kisses to Rhy's soft throat before drawing back to study him. Rhy's beauty catches him by surprise every time. He hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said he could look all day.

"Let's go to my room and solve this problem."

"Hm. Is that what you call it?" Rhy laughs a little, pulling back with a light, playful push against Ronan's shoulder. He smirks up at him, drawing himself back up to his full height (still a good few inches shorter than Ronan) and tossing his hair back imperiously.

"Very well. Lead on. And next time, I want to watch you train."

"As you wish, My Lord."

Though Ronan's voice is light and easy, his heart is pounding in his ears. This is all still very new to him, this kind of freedom. He's never been a libertine. Even now, he doesn't know how to be one. Giving himself to Rhy in the bath seems to have had nearly the same impact as his contract with Kylo, and now he's smitten. Absolutely struck stupid.

He sweeps up the stairs. Not even his long legs can carry him fast enough. But it's not a long journey to the dormitory, which is thankfully Hennessy-free at this hour. As he kicks the door open, he sweeps the room with his eyes just to be sure. Then he steps aside to let Rhy follow him in.

It's been some time since anyone's called him that. Rhy hasn't necessarily kept his birthright a secret, but there's been no reason to tell people either; he's not the prince of anything here. Possibly of nothing at all, anywhere, depending on whether or not he's even alive back home. As alive as he was right before he was dragged out of that pool, anyway.

In the dead of night, Alucard's pleading, desperate voice still pulls him from sleep, until he either cries or drinks himself back into it. Or morning comes.

But it is not the sleepless nighttime now. Now, Ronan is bounding like an excited hound up the steps, leading him to his room and whatever distractions they may find there.

Rhy doesn't correct him or rebuff the title. He's not decided yet if he likes it, but he certainly hadn't hated to hear it either.

"You share your room with Kylo?" He notices the way Ronan looks around as if to make sure they're alone.

Ronan shares everything with Kylo, but that's not something Kylo wants known, so he answers, "This is where they put us when we first got here."

Only two of the four beds appear to be used, though there are three residents. Hennessy's bed looks like a mess, as usual, but the bed he shares with Kylo — the one he's heading for now — is tidy and neat. Not because Ronan is dutiful in his chores, but because he's mastered a spell to do it for him.

As he crosses the room, he unfastens his cloak and tosses it unceremoniously to the side, where something invisible catches it and hangs it properly on its hook. Ronan pays this ghost no mind as he crouches down to unlace his muddy boots.

"I wasn't given a particular room. Just told I was welcome to any of the open ones," Rhy muses, though it hardly matters. Perhaps there were just more open rooms they'd set aside for the newly Summoned by the time he got here. He's aware that many others have been here months longer, Ronan and Kylo included.

The trick with the coat is noted, but without much interest. Rhy comes from a world as vibrantly full of magic as this one, even if it takes slightly different forms, and is focused almost entirely on the elements. It's been easy for him to acclimate to the way Thorne is in that regard. He's even been granted magic of his own, which he's been working hard at. Ronan might have glimpsed him in the training room with Stephen, where the practice nearly every day.

But they aren't here to talk about magic. Probably. Rhy's not quite sure if Ronan has any plans besides changing out of his muddy clothes, but he doesn't mind. The company and the view are more than enough to make the trip worthwhile.

Without awaiting invitation, he sits on the edge of the bed that appears to be Ronan's.

"It used to be more crowded around here," Ronan says, but he doesn't much want to get into the subject of the jailbreak. It's a sore spot.

Once he's got his boots off, he straightens up and works his way out of the rest of his armor, leaving each piece for his unseen servant to collect as he goes. It's a tedious process, even when it's not full plate, and it's taking an awful lot of effort to hide his impatience as he does it.

His gaze slides to Rhy when he's down to his shirt and leggings, his expression pensive, as if the decision's not already made. The shirt goes first, of course, putting his newly-acquired bruises on display. Nothing terrible. Ronan just doesn't take it easy during training, and it shows.

"Do you like being fucked with your clothes on?" he teases as he loosens the laces of his pants. He's been dying to get them off for at least ten minutes now. They're uncomfortably tight when he's this hard.

Rhy could help him. If Ronan asked, he would. But he doesn't really think of it, since Ronan's magic is already doing that. Like a true spoiled royal, he just sits around, enjoying himself and watching Ronan undress, smoothing his palms absently over the made-up blanket.

His brows rise at the question.

"Oh. You wanted to fuck me. And here I thought we were just having a chat before breakfast. Someone's impatient."

He is teasing too, amused by how eager Ronan is when he'd spent all this time trying not to even be in the same room as him. It's embarrassing (for Ronan). But it's also kind of cute.

"You want me to take my clothes off?"

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