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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Ronan exhales a short breath, not quite a laugh. Would he like that? There's nothing he wouldn't like for Rhy to do to him right now. He could have demanded anything and the answer would be the same:

"That's perfect."

Holding his hand out to the side, Ronan addresses the thin air, "Jeeves, the sauce." Immediately, a vial much like the one Kylo had used in the bath is deposited in his palm. He unscrews the top and dabs some of the sweet-smelling oil onto his hand before tossing the vial aside. Though he's hardly used a drop, the fluid easily coats both his hands as he rubs them together.

Rhy doesn't have to relinquish his hold on Ronan, who once again seems happy to do the work for him. As he leans forward, his right hand dips between their bodies to slick Rhy's cock with the oil, which is warm and somehow warming without growing a single degree too hot.

Oh. Well, it is quite nice he doesn't have to let Ronan go. Rhy very much appreciates that. But his eyebrows rise like they're trying to crawl right up to his hairline at the very specific order to whatever spell or invisible creature Ronan is addressing. Rhy's still getting used to Thornean magic. That's a new one.

"...the sauce?" he questions, sniggering. What a fun visual there, Ronan. He doesn't actually get the 'Jeeves' joke, but the rest of it is still pretty funny.

"What very specific magic."

He stretches back, sighing when Ronan touches him. The warmth is unexpected, but pleasant, a heat that travels through his loins and lower belly and makes his fingers dig into Ronan's thighs.

"Where I'm from, most magic is anchored in the elements. I've never used magic oil for sex before."

Ronan looks terribly pleased by Rhy's amusement, a grin flashing across his face. Though it's thoroughly coated already, he takes an extra moment to massage Rhy's cock, simply enjoying the shape of his arousal. It's always nice to feel the tangible evidence of wanting.

"I'm not anchored by anything," he explains as his hand works, slow and lazy. "You don't know what I am yet, do you?" That's no fault of Rhy's, of course. Someone who's merely heard of Ronan's magic might think the description is a metaphor. And even people who have seen it with their own eyes fail to fully understand.

Rhy's hips shift subtly beneath the attention, his breathing deepening with pleasure, but he doesn't rush Ronan or ask for more, simply enjoying the touch for what it is. His hand is warm, fingers sure and firm. It feels exquisite.

In the meantime, Rhy's eyes follow Ronan's expression languidly. His thumbs stull rub at his skin, idly continuing to touch just for the sake of the contact.

"I'd love to learn. I want to know more about you. Everything you'll tell me."

"Anything you want."

Though Ronan may be fiercely protective of others' secrets, he's through with guarding his own. This is a world that finally allows him to exist exactly as he is, where he's a hero instead of a monster. He would be happy for Rhy to see him completely.

Especially after this. There's nothing more intimate for Ronan than allowing someone inside him.

And he's stalled long enough. Shifting his weight, Ronan slides Rhy's cock into position, teasing himself with the tip of it. His own cock throbs hard in anticipation, his breath shaking as he exhales.

"This might feel better than you're used to," he warns Rhy. That's the warmth of the oil at play, a side effect of the enchantment, because Ronan had set out to create something that would ensure his pleasure no matter what was being done to him. He's not sure how dramatic that effect will be on someone new. "You don't have to be careful with me."

"Better?" Rhy exhales sharply, a disbelieving laugh. Ronan doesn't sound like he's joking, or even boasting. "Threaten me with a good time, why don't you?"

He grins, body taut beneath Ronan's with anticipation, holding still and just watching him. He lets Ronan do as he pleases, giving him free rein to take it at his own pace (at least for now), and though his hands don't leave Ronan's body, Rhy doesn't push or guide him with any specificity. Even if he does bite his lip when Ronan teases, twitching and breathing out hard.

"You don't have to be careful with me, either."

Good, Ronan thinks, because he has a terrible habit of breaking things.

In this moment, however, he moves with exquisite tenderness. The warning he'd given — indeed neither joke nor boast — was necessary because his magic can be unpredictable. Maybe Rhy won't notice a difference between this and any other fuck he's had. Or maybe he'll be overwhelmed by the enchantment and come in a single thrust. Ronan intends to take it easy until he has a better sense of where Rhy's reaction will lie on the spectrum.

There's also Ronan's own desire to draw this moment out. When he rocks back and takes Rhy's cock into himself, it's as if he's savoring the feeling with his entire body. The moan that rolls out of him is the very opposite of performance, almost embarrassingly uninhibited. His eyes flutter shut so his senses can go inward as he sinks and sinks until he has Rhy swallowed up completely.

Bracing his heels on the bed, Rhy helps guide Ronan slowly onto himself, anticipation rolling through him in tiny shudders that make his stomach and thighs tense. His fingertips press into Ronan's hips, warm and gentle, without the slightest bit of pressure as he lets Ronan move entirely at his own pace, as slowly as he wants to-- even though it makes Rhy's whole body feel hot with impatience. Ronan teases himself, moving so gently Rhy has to fight not to move his hips; but he's decided this, decided that he wants Ronan to do it all himself, that he wants to watch and experience this, and so he bites his lip and muffles his groan and breathes, watching Ronan through the veil of his thick lashes.

When he finally, finally presses down, when his body finally opens up to him and Rhy can feel the heat of him squeezing and hot, it turns out his willpower isn't nearly as solid as he'd imagined. Rhy gasps, twitching, body moving of its own accord despite the weak protestations of his fading resolve.

Ronan is about halfway down his cock when he can't wait any longer. Rhy's fingers tighten around his hips, just as his own jerk up in a spasm he has no control over. He swears, choked, dizzy with the burst of white-hot pleasure that rolls through him, and shoves Ronan the rest of the way down onto his cock, holding him there and panting.

"Sanct... Y-you-- You weren't joking."

He feels like a schoolboy, giddy with a first-time, overwhelming sort of pleasure that leaves him fuzzy and breathless. Less awkward, though. He still has his wits about him (mostly), and he managed not to come embarrassingly fast (what feels like barely), but he just-- needs a moment.

Ronan can practically feel the impatience buzzing under Rhy's skin. He loves it, loves being wanted so badly his lover can't bear to leave him unfucked, and he is well-practiced in this. Kylo has even less patience with him, rarely allowing himself to be teased for more than a few seconds. Ronan can tell Rhy's going to do it, that his willpower will fail. When Rhy's hips finally snap up, the first sound past Ronan's lips is a laugh.

That gives way to a moan as his nerves register the thrust, the unstoppable force of Rhy's neediness. With the oil's help, Rhy cuts through him as easy as a warm knife through butter, meeting no resistance other than the tight and deliberate squeeze of Ronan's muscles around him as soon as he's buried to the hilt. The collision has sparked something inside of him, too, and it has his spine trembling like he's on the verge of coming undone.

"Fuck," he hisses softly. Just the feeling of Rhy's pulse inside him, the vital throb of the blood in his veins, hits Ronan in a way that feels like it might set him on fire. "Oh, fuck, you feel so good. What the fuck..."

It's not usually like this. When Kylo takes him, it's always overwhelming, but not like this. Rhy doesn't feel like he's rearranging Ronan's entire body. He's a very precise arrow hitting its mark.

Is Ronan laughing at him? Rhy pouts, and his brow furrows a little with a haughty sort of annoyance bred more from being startled than being angry. His thumbs slot right above Ronan's hipbones (lovely hipbones, defined as a work of art) and he shifts his hips with another, involuntary gasp, grinding up into Ronan's body to make him squirm. It backfires a little; it makes Rhy's head fall back too, his eyelids fluttering.

"Th-that's my line, darling. By the stars above, you feel divine." He's not sure he can even move right now. Rhy shudders, thumb stroking one of those lovely angles. "The oil? Enchanted?" No one needs full sentences right now.

"Yeah," Ronan sighs in answer, though the truth is far more complicated than that. Something to explain when his brain is working properly.

It's not just the oil, anyway. Not for Ronan. There is a very specific quality to the way their bodies fit together that feels precisely optimized. As Rhy's cock drags inside him and sets off a new wave of sparks, Ronan distantly considers the possibility that he's dreamt this boy to life.

"It's okay if you come quick," he assures Rhy. And maybe himself a little, too. "It'll keep you going. More than once." Which Ronan had not considered a design flaw at the time, but which does make it especially difficult to ever stop.

"You underestimate me. To think I need enchantments to keep going." Rhy pouts again, lifting his head a little to give Ronan big, puppyish eyes, but the admonition ends on a laugh he cannot stifle. He's hardly superhuman, but he is young and horny and Ronan is so fucking sexy, Rhy's dreamily sure he could keep going for hours. Then again, he's not above having taken something to help in that respect once or twice; he's not actually arguing.

Taking a breath to calm his overeager heartbeat, Rhy rocks his hips up again, urging Ronan to move. His voice is still light, a hint of a smile quirking his lips despite the imperious tone.

"I grow impatient. Show me what you can do."

Ronan shivers as Rhy's laugh vibrates through his body, a sensation so distracting he almost doesn't recognize the words that accompany it. His heavy-lidded eyes track over Rhy's playful mouth, his soft throat, his hard chest. No, he doesn't doubt Rhy's virility, and he intends to push it to its very limit now that Rhy is here.

"Brat," he chides, his hips giving a sudden and punishing jerk. His sculpted thighs flex as he squeezes tight around Rhy's cock, holding him like that for a moment without the benefit of any movement at all.

Then he bows down to capture Rhy's mouth, tongue slithering past his lips as the rest of him begins to slide. He moves until Rhy's cock threatens to slip out of him entirely, then sinks back to swallow him up again. The teasing is torturous for Ronan, as well, and an obscene sound spills out of him and into Rhy's mouth.

The next time his body undulates, the movement is a touch faster. And again, a little faster than that. He starts to fuck himself on Rhy's cock at a steadily increasing rhythm, moaning every time he hits deep.

"Mmh--!" Rhy bites his lip, head falling back and eyelids fluttering with the shock of Ronan's sudden movement on his cock, and how intense it feels. Whatever kind of enchantment's in that oil, Rhy is already eager to feel its effects with more, ah, experimental motions. For curiosity's sake.

One hand slides down to Ronan's thigh as he finally, slowly, begins to move. The other cups his cheek, cradling him close as Ronan presses his moans into Rhy's mouth. He kisses back with careless, wanton desperation, groaning in turn so their voices sink into each other with their mingling breaths and bodies.

Rhy's hips shudder and twitch, finding his rhythm. He bucks up to meet Ronan's downward movements, hilting roughly as the pace grows frantic, jarring them both. No more holding back; there's no reason to draw it out if they're going to be at it all morning.

The soft skin beneath his fingers dimples where he grips it, hard muscle flexing beneath. He remembers burying his face in the crook of that strong, supple thigh, how Ronan had tensed, how he tasted. How he'd looked, writhing in his arms. Rhy jerks with a full-body shudder, hips snapping up and nails digging in, coming deep and hard.

The heat of the moment has Ronan out of his mind. It's like he doesn't know what to do with all this pleasure, all at once. His moans take on a helpless, almost whimpering quality as Rhy thrusts into him, each snap a little more powerful to match Ronan's needy grinding. Every collision sparks something inside him, white-hot fire building at the base of his spine.

When it hits, he can't tell where Rhy's climax ends and his own begins. That final snap pushes Ronan over the edge, his whole body rocking forward with the force of it. He can feel Rhy's cock pulsing as it fills him with heat, just as his own cock throbs hard and spills his seed across Rhy's stomach and chest. It's never happened like this before, this synchronicity. It's nothing to do with the enchantment and everything to do with Rhy.

"Oh my God," Ronan gasps, the words slipping out of him while his body's still shivering with orgasm, the very last of his load dripping down Rhy's sides. His hands slip on its slickness as he fumbles to hold onto Rhy's waist, refusing to let him pull out. He wants to feel this for as long as he can, this perfect fit.

"Fuck..." Rhy breathes, dazed as he sinks back against the pillows, watching Ronan through lidded eyes as the aftershocks of pleasure roll through him. One hand finds the back of Ronan's neck, squeezing gently, urging him close again. He makes no move to pull out or shift in any way except to tug Ronan down to meet his mouth lazily, sloppy and careless of technique, just wanting to taste his warmth again.

He can feel the stickiness clinging to his belly, dripping down his sides. Ronan's heat still snug around him, making his breath hitch as his body begins to settle down. He tries not to move; Ronan had promised the oil would have certain properties, after all.

"You made a mess," Rhy purrs against the corner of his mouth, more compliment than admonishment.

Ronan's head swims as he bows down to deliver all the kisses Rhy demands, a service he's too happy to provide. When they break, he lays his cheek against Rhy's and shuts his eyes, his skin humming in the afterglow.

"I'm not sorry," he mumbles into Rhy's ear before pressing a kiss just beneath it. "It's not my fault you're fucking incredible."

His cock isn't even softening now that he's done it, too aware of Rhy inside him despite both their bodies are lying still. One orgasm isn't enough to dull the excitement of finally being here, finally having him after craving him for days and days. He squeezes a little tighter just to remind himself how deep Rhy's buried, and moans when he feels warmth seeping out of him. Such an obscene, forbidden sensation.

Rhy grunts, blunt nails digging into the nape of Ronan's neck when he tenses like that. He's not ready to move yet, but it definitely does something to his insides, arresting the breath in his throat.

"Careful. I may get used to compliments like that and begin to expect them," Rhy drawls, letting his eyes fall shut. His nails travel down Ronan's spine next, back up, tracing over tattooed shoulder and scapula. When he breathes in, Ronan smells of sweat and woodsmoke and sex, and the scent of him etches itself into Rhy's brain to be called upon later, if he finds himself alone and wanting, added to the memory of this sensation and this heat.

The truth is Rhy expects compliments aplenty. He got them all the time, sincere and not and everywhere in between. Here, though, no one needs to impress or entice him-- least of all Ronan, whose standing in Thorne's court far exceeds Rhy's own. That makes his interest and his praise all the more attractive to Rhy. And he doesn't even have to wear a disguise.

Edited 2022-02-05 09:38 (UTC)

"I don't give them unless I mean them," Ronan sighs, laying another slow and sensual kiss beneath Rhy's jaw. "I can't tell a lie."

He shivers as Rhy's nails explore his skin, and he's sure he knows exactly what Rhy's doing, because he does the very same with those things he wants to commit to memory. He builds memories like they're prototype models, getting all the details in so he can conjure them up again later, in his dreams. His stomach gives a nervous flutter at the idea of Rhy conjuring up this memory later.

But he doesn't discourage it. His mouth keeps traveling over Rhy's throat, down the crook of his neck, to his shoulder and up again. Savoring, unhurried kisses. Saving this for later.

"Such virtue. And here I thought honest men boring," Rhy jokes, as he of course assumes this is an everyday sort of exaggeration on Ronan's part.

He laughs softly, Ronan's breath a little ticklish beneath his ear, and tips his head back to let him explore. His mouth feels good, soft and warm, a reverent gentleness that Rhy lets himself sink into gratefully. He could fall in love with a boy like this. (Kell always told him he fell in love too easily for his own good, and he's usually been right.)

"I think I'd like to hear more of your entirely truthful compliments."

That laughter sends an overwhelmingly pleasant ripple through Ronan and he hums appreciation into Rhy's skin.

"Be careful what you wish for."

He picks his head up and sweeps his eyes — the unnerving kind of blue only found in nature when it's warning about poison — over Rhy's lovely golden features. Ronan looks a little bit like he might already be in love, although it could just be that, for once, he doesn't look pissed off.

"You make me want to pray," he says.

He punctuates the statement with an agonizingly slow and subtle roll of his hips. Just enough to pull Rhy's cock a little deeper into his body. Just enough to remind himself, again, of what they're doing.

Rhy breathes in deeply. Ronan is slick with his cum, hot and slippery, and utterly irresistible. It doesn't matter if it's the oil or just lust, but he's eager to keep going, the small shift of his hips coaxing. Testing how it feels.

This time, he is less frantic. The slow motions of easing back into fucking feel less like a tease and more like reverence, a gently rising crescendo.

He groans, palms sliding down Ronan's back, until he can get a firm handful of either side of his ass. Rhy doesn't hold him back; he is only admiring.

"What would you pray for?" he prompts after a few moments where it seemed he'd forgotten. But the comment is too curious to dismiss. He had no idea what it could mean.

Ronan's lashes flutter in ecstasy as Rhy picks up that languid rhythm, churning deep inside him, rocking his body like waves lapping at the shore. He tries to keep his eyes on Rhy's face, to watch the way desire writes itself into his features, but when his gaze moves over Rhy's parted lips, he can't resist any longer and dips down for a hungry kiss. His tongue slips deep into Rhy's mouth with all the heat Rhy's driving back into him, the two of them caught in a loop of sensuous thrusting.

He only takes Rhy's grip on his ass as further encouragement, spreading and grinding down to let Rhy take as much of him as he can. He's so wet, it's almost too easy. Or maybe he's just accustomed to much more abuse by this stage. It really feels like he could let Rhy fuck him all day. (And he might.)

He's almost forgotten what he said, too, by the time Rhy asks about it. Ronan meets his eyes again, his expression dazed and dreamy while he works out the thought. What would he pray for?

"Forgiveness," he answers. The truth, as always.

His eyes are nearly shut, mouth wet, breath hot and damp on Ronan's jaw. Pulling away is a grudging necessity. Rhy breathes, sliding his hands down the tops of Ronan's thighs on either side of him, admiring the little pink marks his nails had left previously, only visible on skin so milk-white. It is something of a novelty to Rhy, a lover so easily marked.

The answer that comes makes his eyes open. He blinks up at Ronan, confusion quirking his lips.

"I've already forgiven you."

He means for the avoidance act, as they'd discussed before, and has no concept of why Ronan would bring up such a thing. Maybe mid-fuck is not the best time to have this conversation, but the thought that Ronan is still anxious about it is something Rhy will not accept without trying to remedy that feeling.

He leans up, kissing Ronan again.

"You've done nothing wrong, darling."

What a sweet thing to say. Ronan can't help but smile as he returns the kiss, stroking Rhy's cheek affectionately with his palm.

"I know you forgive me."

He traces Rhy's lower lip with his thumb. He's had to avoid looking at this beautiful face every day, because of this mouth and everything he imagines doing with it.

"I've got so many other sins that need forgiving," Ronan continues, his mouth drifting close again, lips grazing lips. "You know I don't even jerk off? I'm usually so good about it. That's usually one rule I can follow, at least. But then you come along, and..."

He doesn't know why he's saying all this. It's embarrassing as hell. He doesn't really mind if Rhy laughs at him, though. If nothing else, at least Ronan entertains him.

"I've sinned a lot since I met you."

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