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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Rhy doesn't mind this at all; he is the cuddly type not so secretly and shifts happily closer to embrace Ronan in turn, letting him snuggle up as much as he wishes. Rhy is an expert at balancing a glass of wine and a warm body curled around him.

"Oh, hush." Rhy flicks his ear in reprimand, gently, and doesn't gratify that warning (if that's what it is) with any response.

The question earns a one-shouldered shrug. His voice is low, quiet with nostalgia. Perhaps regret. He speaks against the rim of his glass and looks over Ronan's shoulder, thinking of Alucard stepping through his window like some fantastical apparition out of nowhere.

Rhy's smile quivers at the edges.

"I might have. I'm not certain what could have been, but... perhaps, given a little more time."

Ronan doesn't miss the quiver in Rhy's smile, and he leans in to nuzzle him and brush a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"Sorry. That was personal."

Rhy seems to prefer keeping things light and casual. Very much not Ronan's style, naturally, and he's fumbling a whole lot while trying it out. Thankfully, Rhy also seems like the forgiving type.

"I wanna see you again. I mean... Not just like this. What you said earlier, about being friends. I'd like that."

Rhy's arm around him tightens gratefully. He kisses back, a brief press of lips, touched that Ronan would comfort him. It was not the question itself he was upset by; he doesn't mind that Ronan asked, and doesn't consider it prying. The trouble isn't Ronan. It's everything else.

"It's all right." And then he laughs, surprised, and tips his head forward to bump his forehead into Ronan's with an amused huff.

"We are already friends, you silly man. I won't let you be rid of me."

Finishing off his glass, Rhy sets it aside and settles down again on his elbow, arm not moving from around Ronan's side. The smile sobers into something more contemplative. His thumb slides up and down Ronan's shoulder blade, petting him almost unconsciously.

"Still, I'm glad to hear you say it."

Rhy says that as if it's obvious. We are already friends. Like it's a given. But it's not. There are precious few people who would name Ronan a friend, and that's a number that's shrinking, not growing. Even in this world.

"I say what I mean," Ronan reminds him. The truth, always. It's a very dangerous condition to have when he's in a situation like this one, caught up in the afterglow of what might just be the best sex he's ever had in his life, his brain flooded with oxytocin. The probability is high that he'll say something as stupid as he feels.

He should get out of this bed. He's skipped several appointments and he's running late for his dreaming session, which means Kylo could be looking for him and might very well walk through the door any minute now. Ronan has no idea how he'd explain himself. He hadn't quite intended his dalliance to swerve into... whatever this is.

Instead of retreating, however, he steals another kiss from Rhy. Slow and sensual, in outright defiance of his good sense.

"So you keep insisting," Rhy murmurs against his mouth, before he lets himself be kissed. Soft and slow. Rhy closes his eyes, settling further into the pillows, pulling Ronan more snugly against him. It isn't out of neediness this time-- at least, not the purely physical kind. He just likes the closeness, the affection.

He props his cheek on his upper arm again when they pull apart, if only a few inches, and watches Ronan's eyes.

"Earlier, you said something..." Gently, Rhy ventures back to the subject that had made them pause before, searching Ronan's face.

"About breaking some sort of rules when you're with me. What did you mean? If you've a lover who would punish you for this--"

Rhy isn't sure how that sentence should end. If he should offer to back off or break somebody's nose. Instead, he trails off, letting Ronan answer first.

Lover. That's a strange word for Kylo. Not quite the one he would use, if someone asked him to name it, because he has no idea whether Kylo loves him. He's not sure Kylo has ever loved anyone at all.

"I was talking about God," Ronan says, although he doesn't think that will clarify things much for Rhy, who seems kind of unfamiliar with the whole concept. "My religion. I'm not supposed to be doing any of this. They call it a disordered inclination, wanting to be with other men. If I were a good person, I'd be chaste."

And yet, Ronan closes the space between them to reassure Rhy with another kiss before he continues.

"All I meant was that I want you more than I've wanted... anyone."

That's not what he expected to say, and he looks a little shocked at having said it, but he doesn't take it back.

Yes, he thinks. Kylo is going to kill him.

Rhy's brows knit. It's not that he's unaware of the concept of religion, but Ronan is correct in assuming he has no such loyalty to any god or religion himself. If his people worship anything, it's magic. And the thought of a religion that would punish a man for loving another man -- or anyone at all -- makes his skin crawl.

He doesn't bother to tell Ronan he is a good person. In truth, Rhy doesn't know, but he also doesn't particularly care. What is a good person, anyway? Ronan is little more than a beautiful stranger, but Rhy wants to get to know him so much better, wants to learn about his life and his beliefs and his fears just as intimately as he's learned his body today.

His arm tightens around Ronan with an air that is almost protective. He presses their foreheads together. Not knowing how to read the look of surprise that crosses Ronan's features, he assumes it has to do with his religion again, and doesn't push.

"Thank you. For explaining."

Rhy can't say he isn't flattered by the confession. He also can't return it in kind, not word for word. But that doesn't mean his heart isn't open to wanting him more.

"I'm here," he says instead, reassuring.

Then, with a growing smirk:

"And quite frankly, I do not give a mangy dog's arse what your god thinks."

There was a time when that statement would have upset Ronan far more than it comforted him. His religion isn't one that was foisted on him against his will. It's the truth. Not a belief, but the truth, which he knows because he's seen the Devil with his own eyes. He takes the Church's teachings to heart and he used to suffer every day for it, thanks to his conscience and his conscience alone.

But it all feels so far away from him now.

"It doesn't really matter," Ronan admits. "Those are rules for humans and it turns out I'm not one. Just old habits, you know?"

Rhy looks into his eyes, considering. He wonders if even the definition for who is and isn't human might change from world to world. He knows there are those who consider his brother something more than human, too. (Or something worse.)

For now, reserving judgement, he only asks, "Then what would you say you are?"

Ronan's lips twitch into a rueful smile. The question was entirely expected but he never has a good answer. Not one that satisfies curiosity. People are always looking for something that will make sense and all he has to offer are mysteries.

"The Greywaren," he says, fully aware that will mean nothing to Rhy.

"Would you like to tell me what that means, or would you prefer I didn't ask?"

Either way, he'll listen.

"What does it mean," Ronan wonders aloud, his fingertips playing across Rhy's skin. He genuinely doesn't know.

"Well, I'm the only one. I didn't know that when I first heard it. I thought it was a word for people who could do what I do."

His fingers still. This requires a lot more clarification, doesn't it? And yet, it's only going to get more bewildering from here.

"Dreamers. People who make dreams real. But then a forest told me there may be a fuckton of dreamers, but there's just one Greywaren. One Greywaren all by his lonesome, dreaming bigger and badder than any other dreamer. This isn't helping, is it?"

Rhy blinks.

"A forest told you?"

Yes, this is the part he chooses to focus on. For now. There is... a lot.

He laughs, a little sheepishly, and rubs Ronan's shoulder with a thumb.

"I'm doing my best to keep up. You're special. One of a kind."

"Yeah," Ronan sighs. "It turns out special's not so awesome."

There's a lot more to the story, but there's no reason to trouble Rhy with the details. The details only muddle everything and, frankly, tend to freak people out. Ronan has been enjoying a whole eight months of not having to look over his shoulder. If his boyfriend, his brother, and his best friend all couldn't stand to see Ronan live, there's no reason to believe Rhy Maresh would be the one person who'd understand.

"I'll take you to my forest sometime. It's nice."

"I understand." The sentiment, if not the details. He means that he won't push, and all he needs to know is that Ronan would rather not talk about it, that it's not something he is eager to go back to apparently. That's enough for Rhy. Another time, in another lifetime, he might have been more nosy and more flippant, but there is a weight to the words now. Sometimes, you are one of a kind when you'd rather just be normal.

"Your forest?" Rhy smiles, adjusting his arm folded beneath his cheek and settling in more comfortably.

"Really? I'd like that."

Ronan smiles, too, in a strangely shy sort of way. That invitation is a bit like offering to show someone a painting or some other work of art kept hidden away in an attic somewhere. It's his most personal creation.

But it also feels right that Rhy should see it. That he should stand in it. There's something about Rhy that belongs in that forest — something about him that belongs with Ronan — and Ronan still can't figure out why. He'd been so sure this attraction was purely physical, some embarrassingly stupid hormonal reaction to how they first met. He's exhausted himself trying to satisfy that hunger... and he can't. It's bottomless.

"What about you?" he asks. "Are you human?"

Perhaps it is a joke. Perhaps it's innocent curiosity. Rhy is sure that Ronan didn't mean to make him feel like he'd just stuck an icicle through his gut.

He goes still.

"I like to think so."

Although Ronan is exceptionally skilled at insulting people, that certainly wasn't his intention. He can feel he's said the wrong thing, the way Rhy freezes up, like any movement at all might break something. He knows that feeling very well.

Ronan draws back and gingerly disentangles himself from Rhy's limbs so he can sit up properly. He's overstaying his welcome, he thinks, and probably has been ever since he started talking. Anyway, he's starting to feel like that hollow hunger isn't about Rhy at all. As soon as he's not distracted by the warmth of Rhy's body, he realizes it's worse than he thought.

"Shit," he hisses under his breath. "I'm late."

Rhy seems to realize he's moving away a fraction of a second too late. He sits up too, half-reaching for Ronan before he gives up, realizing the spell has broken; apparently, lounging around all day in one another's arms and drinking wine until dinner isn't in the cards. Maybe another day.

This isn't how he wanted to part ways. There is so much he needs to explain--

"The hour is later than I thought. I've missed an appointment, myself." Rhy scoots to the edge of the bed, moving to stand. He'll have to... figure out where his clothing got kicked off to, and assess how badly rumpled it is.

"It was a pleasant dalliance, though." He offers a smile like an apology, trousers in one hand, the other reaching for Ronan.

"One more kiss. I want to remember the taste until next time."

Ronan would have liked just as much to spend the entire day in bed with Rhy, and while he's tempted to grab him and drag him back, the romance will probably be spoiled once the nightwash comes and he starts bleeding black. He can't actually sustain himself on sex, even if it'd felt like he really could for a little while there.

He doesn't bother searching for his clothes when he climbs off the bed. What does he need to get dressed for, when it's Kylo who's expecting him? He just grabs his banyan from its hook and slips it on before turning back to Rhy.

The request surprises him. He'd assumed Rhy was thoroughly turned off by his, well, everything. But Ronan responds immediately by laying both hands on Rhy's hips and drawing him in. "Until next time," he agrees, and dips for a kiss so heated Rhy would be forgiven for thinking he's trying to sneak in a final round.

It is a comfort to them both. If Ronan can still kiss him like that, perhaps he doesn't mind Rhy asking him to share his secrets and balking at the first question toward his own.

He sends Ronan off with a promise to come see him again and finishes getting dressed, trying to look a bit more put together before he heads out.

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