abraxaslogs | [ OPEN ] the fate of the game is moving my way.

"You already don't want to stop."

Undeterred, Ronan's hand continues its journey, his palm brushing over the bulge trapped in Rhy's trousers. Feeling him out beneath the fabric. Encouraging him to keep wanting, even though he shouldn't.

"Fuck," Ronan hisses softly. There's no secret of his own desire, throbbing hard beneath Rhy. Maddening, to be this close but denied access by all these clothes. It would be so easy to tear them off, to have his way, but that would be a decision. A decision that isn't his to make.

Ronan dips his head, dragging slow and heated kisses along Rhy's jaw. He could beg for Kylo's permission right now, but even the begging isn't for Ronan to do. Kylo already knows how desperately he wants Rhy. Has known from the beginning. And maybe he knows something that Ronan doesn't, some inequality in their desire. Maybe he's looked into Rhy's heart and disapproves of what he found there, deemed him unworthy. Maybe he knows Ronan's too stupid to figure it out for himself.

The possibility doesn't make it any easier to deny this feeling, though.

"Of course I don't. Do you think me mad? I can feel how much you want me -- why would I wish to stop?"

Rhy points out this unfairness with a whine in his voice, arching forward and rocking his hips as if Ronan is the one who needs reminding what his dick is doing between Rhy's spread thighs. His own arousal is undeniable, made infinitely worse by Ronan's heavy breaths against his skin, the softness of his lips, the heat of his tongue.

Twining his fingers in Ronan's hair, Rhy pulls him back, not painful or too quick but firm enough to cut through his distraction.

The dark of the pupil has nearly superseded the liquid amber of his irises when he looks into Ronan's face. His lips part, breath uneven, eyebrows crimped in frustration.

"But," he continues belatedly, despite every pulse of blood throughout his body begging him to stop caring so much about the things in his head and focus on what his dick wants instead.

"You are the one who told me we shouldn't."

Ronan drags his teeth over his lower lip as Rhy pulls him back, squeezing his eyes shut like it's physically painful to look at Rhy right now. It kind of is, actually.

"You're right."

He'd been so good when Rhy first got here. He'd meant it, too, when he'd said it would be just drinks. His throat is still sore — everything is still sore — after the punishment Kylo laid on him the last time this happened. It's impossible to forget this is forbidden.

He just can't help it. In a very real way, like his dreams needed to walk miles and miles just to be close to the ley line. It makes sense now, even if it doesn't make this any easier. Ronan can't stop being a dream, no matter how much he wants to play human.

Kylo, he thinks loud enough to shout all the way across the castle. Stop me if I go too far.

"We shouldn't," Ronan repeats, opening his eyes. But even as he says it, his fingers follow the outline of Rhy's erection. "But you're not doing anything. I am."

Rhy hisses softly through his teeth, watching Ronan uncertainly. He'll be able to feel the way Rhy's thighs tense at that touch, holding back from rolling his hips into it, if only barely.

There is something in Ronan's eyes, a decision that has been made that Rhy doesn't quite understand. He swallows, and his hands slide down Ronan's shoulders, lingering there like he's trying to figure out if he should reach further down, trying to pull Ronan's hands off of himself. He doesn't.

These rules seem like nonsense to Rhy, but Ronan had been so insistent. He is the one who knows how this works -- he is the one setting out what can and can't be done, in accordance to whatever it is he's agreed to with Kylo. Rhy might find it strange, even uncomfortable, but if it's what truly makes Ronan happy, he will be as open-minded as he can.

"Yes, you are," he relents after a moment, trying on a smile.

"And you can do more as long as you please. Your choice. If that is how you prefer it."

If this is what it takes, Rhy is willing to try it. He rarely lets a lover lead in bed; it feels a little new, but there is something exciting about that too.

The rules are nonsense. And Ronan knows it. This is exactly why he relies on Kylo — because his own judgment is no good.

Rhy doesn't protest, though, so Ronan doesn't stop. His touch remains a soft one, for now. A tease, more than anything else. He's leaving space for intervention, for Rhy to change his mind, for himself to come to his senses.

"I feel different when I'm with you," Ronan murmurs, his gaze moving over Rhy's features. Those golden eyes remind him of the sunset. Ill-advised, he stares into them. "Like I'm crazy, but not really like I'm losing my mind. It's more..."

He interrupts himself, unable to resist capturing Rhy's lips, tongue plunging into his mouth with a fervor that's almost threatening. Ronan wants to devour him. To drink him. To drain him. How lucky for Rhy, that he's awake and not dreaming.

First, Ronan tells him just drinks. There is a pact. There are rules.

Now, Ronan refuses to let him go, kisses him like he's trying to drown them both, draws lines inside those rules that Rhy simply cannot follow. How is he supposed to say no? When Ronan feels so full of life and magic in his arms, vibrant with desire? When he'd spilled his heart out and Ronan had listened and held him and taken up some of the pain so he didn't have to keep trying to hold it all alone?

It isn't fair. Ronan can't tell him they should stop and then kiss him like that.

Rhy's fingers dig into those broad shoulders, clinging as a man on a cliff's edge. His knees squeeze Ronan's hips. The sound that crawls out of his throat and into Ronan's mouth might have been a moan, or another sob, or simply something obscene.

If Ronan needed him to be the one who'd convince them both to act sane, he's badly miscalculated. Rhy tried. He can't. He gives up.

Ronan doesn't care for sanity. It's never done him any good. Trying to hold onto sanity, apply logic, value reason... All that stuff is the stuff that kills him. It's not even what Kylo wants from him, really. Kylo, who was first charmed by a boy who would dare challenge him to a fight two minutes after meeting him, isn't trying to tame Ronan into a meek bootlicker. This fire is the same fire that warms him.

Swallowing Rhy's deliciously agonized sounds, Ronan tempers his urges just enough to keep from rushing ahead and failing to appreciate each moment. After all, this isn't only for him. He's sharing every detail with Kylo, broadcasting everything from the taste of Rhy's mouth to the needful excitement pulsing between his own legs.

We can both have him, Ronan negotiates. Share my body. I'll make him beg, just like you wanted.

His teeth catch Rhy's lower lip as the kiss breaks, nipping lightly. At the same time, his fingers abandon Rhy's cock to begin the work of loosening his trousers. "Don't get greedy," Ronan warns him playfully. "Just let me do what I want with you."

When Ronan pulls away, Rhy can feel the sting of his teeth on his slightly swollen lip with the throbbing of his pulse. A reminder. A portent. The tip of his tongue flicks out, tasting it.

"And what do you want to do with me?" he murmurs, drawing his lower lip between his own teeth to tease at the memory of Ronan's mouth on his.

He leans back slightly, giving Ronan room to work, hips canting up to let him at the laces.

The question is nearly lost on Ronan as something shifts in his mind. The pressure that signifies Kylo's presence there begins to melt into a different sensation, a humming warmth that he can only interpret as a reward. Maybe even permission. His fingers forget their work for a split second and his lashes flutter while his awareness fades out and immediately in again.

He sucks in a sharp breath and exhales an airy laugh, his eyes refocusing on Rhy. "Wouldn't you like to know," he replies mysteriously.

Now encouraged, he makes quick work of unlacing Rhy's trousers just enough to free his cock. Easing him out with gentle fingers, Ronan takes a moment to simply appreciate the feeling of it in his hand. His heart beats faster just to touch it, instantly reminded of how incredible it felt inside him. He teases the head with his thumb as he holds it, sharing this with Kylo as well. The memory isn't for Ronan alone. They can have this together, every step of the way.

Ronan seems to already be enjoying this immensely. Encouraged by this, and by Ronan's sure fingers making quick work of his laces and starting on his cock, Rhy decides to let him have his way. After the time they've already spent together, Rhy knows Ronan can make him feel incredible. If they are trying out some new positions this time, then it's all the more opportunity to find new ways to feel good.

Rhy lets go of his breath with a low groan of approval.

"Few would be brave enough to do whatever they like with me," he murmurs with a suggestive little smirk, watching Ronan through his lashes. "Even fewer allowed."

Ronan flashes a wicked grin at Rhy. He'd thought the very same thing, hadn't he, he'd first invited Rhy to enjoy him. He doubts Rhy yet realizes just how small that number is, the exclusive few who have had their way with Ronan Lynch.

"It's only fair," he purrs as his hand begins to work Rhy's cock with luxurious strokes. Despite the earlier warning, he doesn't seem concerned with the prospect of discovery, taking his time even though Kylo could storm in at any minute.

There's something awfully filthy about this: Rhy in his lap, his hand down Rhy's pants, playing with him like a dirty secret. This affair that isn't an affair at all, but only because Rhy's unaware that there are two men feeling him up right now. Ronan's cock strains in the confinement of his own clothing, aching with need, but he hasn't even decided yet whether he'll give in and go all the way. It's hard to tell whether that's what Kylo wants from him or what he wants for himself.

If Ronan isn't concerned, Rhy absolutely does not have the willpower to be concerned about it anymore either. He'd given plenty of opportunity to stop. He'd asked. And Ronan put his hand down the front of his trousers, so that's where they're at now.

It's no longer even on his mind.

"Very well," Rhy laughs, breathy and low, half a moan. His hips twitch up, skin hot beneath Ronan's fingers, his pulse racing. "I concede the point. Have your way with me, if you must. For fairness' sake."

He does lean in to try to steal another kiss though.

Although he shouldn't, Ronan allows it. There's never a moment he isn't craving Rhy's kiss, anyway. Not since that first intoxicating night. A pleased hum rises from his throat as he savors the plush softness of Rhy's lips, and when his tongue glides past them, it occurs to him that there's one other exciting way to use this eager mouth.

After the kiss breaks, he cruelly abandons Rhy's cock so that he can hoist him up and get them both more comfortably situated, tossing Rhy onto his back. Ronan immediately climbs over him, straddling Rhy's hips while he begins to strip off his own clothes. It's a challenge not to simply tear them off, especially considering how heavy and impatient his cock is getting. He tries to dissuade it several times by reminding himself he's not even supposed to be doing this, but to his frustration and bewilderment, that thought only makes him harder.

The outfits he's chosen lately are complex, their many layers meant to make situations like this one too inconvenient to tempt him. It takes a maddening amount of time just to unwrap his elaborate robe, especially because he can't seem to keep his mouth off Rhy's skin, laying kisses along his jaw and down his throat.

Rhy lands with a thump, laughing breathlessly and licking his lips without an ounce of shame. Immediately, he arches up when Ronan straddles him, his desire more than clear but the movement as playful as it is insistent.

Lucky for Ronan, Rhy has lived his not-so-long life undressing men and women in the fanciest, stupidest finery man and magic can muster. His fingers deftly locate buttons, laces and clasps, unwrapping Ronan layer by layer like some complicated present. He doesn't even need to look, what with Ronan mouthing up and down his throat. The heat of his breath makes Rhy shudder, as he tosses some other layer off the side of the bed and seeks skin.

Their collaborative effort manages to get Ronan most of the way to undressed, until only his leggings are left. His patience thinning, he only shoves them down far enough to free his cock, which has suffered imprisonment long enough. Then he takes Rhy's hand and guides it there, closing it around him and stroking himself with it, his own hand laid over it to puppet it all the while. If he's the one controlling it, then it's not something Rhy is doing to him, is it?

"How do you think I would feel inside you?" he asks, his lips brushing Rhy's earlobe. "Would it be enough to make you whole again, if I filled you?"

Rhy's own clothing is in rumpled disarray, still technically on, which makes the open front of his trousers even lewder than if he'd been wearing nothing at all. And Ronan, now mostly bare atop him, so brilliant and beautiful it almost hurts to look.

His eyes drift mostly-shut, watching the shadows of furniture and curtains behind Ronan's shoulder through a haze of lust and eyelashes.

Rhy's fingers move as directed, the shape of him familiar by now against his palm, letting Ronan guide. He squeezes, the pad of his thumb circling the slit, picking up moisture to slick the next downward stroke.

A shudder, full-body, embarrassingly obvious to Ronan in his proximity.

His voice spills out a groan, words forming before thoughts. "I'd love nothing more than to find out."

The promise of it is almost too much to bear. He hasn't been able to stop thinking about it, how it would feel to plunge himself deep inside Rhy and claim him completely, ever since the thought first crossed his mind. Kylo had seen it then and Ronan knows he sees it now, again, within their reach. Rhy is ready and willing. All Ronan has to do is take it.

He can't, though. He won't do it alone. He needs to feel Kylo with him and know for sure that it's the both of them having Rhy, together, even if Rhy himself doesn't know it.

Show me you're here, he prays. Do this with me. I want him for you.

In the meantime, Ronan releases Rhy's hand, allowing him to decide whether or not he should keep stroking. He needs both his hands free to peel away the rest of Rhy's clothes.

It has not occurred to Rhy to stop. When Ronan's hand leaves his, he takes over without hesitation, taking the way Ronan had been guiding him and keeping the same pace and pressure to follow his unspoken instructions. A few times, he has to stop to help get rid of his clothing -- sleeves are especially tricky -- but it's never for long if he can help it.

"Mmh-- you're so hard just thinking about it. So eager to have me?" Rhy's voice is stilted between heavy breaths, between yanking his chemise over his head finally and seeking out Ronan's body under his fingers again. "I thought you might prefer the other side, but if it's you..."

He trails off, not quite saying it, but clearly implied. This isn't a position he takes often. Excitement thrills through his nerves, mixed in with a fluttering anxiety as if it's the first time (it's not, and yet).

"I want it. To feel you."

Rhy's assessment would ordinarily be the correct one. Ronan loves to be the one who's taken, thrilled to be pinned down and conquered and used until his lover is completely satisfied. He's a dangerous beast in every other aspect of his life, but when he finds that rare person he's willing to allow close to him, he wants to submit to them completely.

That's what makes everything he feels for Rhy so overwhelming. It's turning his entire nature into something else. And it had been inexplicable until just a few minutes ago, until Rhy made his confession and Ronan understood why this is happening — and what he's supposed to do about it.

"You're meant for this," Ronan tells him, shivering with desire. "I can give you what you need."

Rhy will understand it, too, once he feels what Ronan can do for him.

Now he pulls Rhy's hand off his cock, pinning it to the mattress instead. He puts his other hand out for his invisible servant, who pours that sweet-smelling enchanted oil into his palm, and he slathers it onto himself before dipping his hand between Rhy's legs to slide a slick finger inside him.

He allows it. Ronan's hands finish stripping him, and Rhy kicks anything left shoved down around his ankles off the side of the bed with wanton carelessness. The sweet scent of that oil hits him with a sense memory so strong it makes his cock twinge, and his thighs fall open so compliantly, he startles even himself. Distantly. It all feels a bit as though he's dreaming now, a bit like looking through a frosted-over window, knowing there should be a barrier but reaching through and finding the glass simply isn't there.

Rhy's breath hitches. He presses his hips up.

"Yes--"

Despite every part of his body screaming for urgency, Ronan moves with all the care of a creature fully aware that it was built to destroy and doing everything in its power to avoid it. His touch is more gentle than even a human's, even as he holds Rhy down and coaxes him open for an invasion that will be far from easy, despite his enchantment working its magic.

"Relax," he cautions, laying another kiss to the tender curve of Rhy's throat. He pushes his finger deeper and, as soon as he's confident Rhy's body won't fight him, starts fucking him with it in a languid rhythm.

A small whimper catches in Rhy's throat, the thrum of it against Ronan's lips. It has been some time since he's let a man put him in this position. Most wouldn't even suggest it, and the man who Rhy had willingly given himself to-- he'd disappeared, and only recently come back into Rhy's life, so recently (before his arrival here) that Rhy hadn't even gotten the chance to see if it was still what he liked.

Ronan is different. Rhy can feel the gentle, irrevocable command of Ronan's palm against his wrist, pinning him down more with Rhy's desire to indulge him than with physical strength. Where Alucard was always the heat and wild passion of a conflagration, Ronan is cool intensity and gentle insistence, a crisp nightfall settling like a blanket to envelop everything around him.

Rhy relaxes, swayed by the softness of his lips, and lets him in, letting Ronan lead the slow undulation of his body with the pace he sets.

With a maneuver so smooth it could almost go unnoticed, Ronan adds a second finger. At the same time, he meets Rhy's mouth for a reassuring kiss. Every move he makes is a vow to be good, the very opposite of everything implied by the sharpness of his features and the hardness of his body. Even the way his fingers move inside Rhy — massaging with a determined metric, without force but also without hesitation — promises that Rhy will be taken care of.

His other hand releases Rhy's wrist, intertwining their fingers instead. Ronan kisses him again and again, soft yet simmering, until he's confident that Rhy is ready to welcome him. Then he waits for Kylo's encouragement, the signal that at least part of his will is impressing itself on Ronan's nerves. It's there almost as soon as he asks for it.

Ronan's fingers slip out of Rhy as kindly as they entered and he takes himself in hand. The slightest shift of his body has the tip of his cock nudging its way in, urging Rhy to open up for him just as he did seconds ago.

"You want me," Ronan reminds him. It isn't a question. "Think about how much you want me inside you."

His fingers squeeze Ronan's in return, an anchor and a promise, holding on tight. At first, Rhy kisses him, meeting every press of his lips with eager heat and conviction-- but it isn't long until that brash mouth of his falls open sloppily instead, his concentration utterly unraveled by what Ronan's other hand is doing between his legs. His participation in his own plundering recedes to feeling more than doing, acceptance over action. Relief. Because this is what Ronan wants, isn't it? This is what Ronan promises.

It's all right if all he does is gasp and squirm, burying his moans against Ronan's tongue in his mouth.

Rhy feels half mad before Ronan even removes his fingers, and more when he does. He watches through his lashes, head fallen back to bare the curve of his throat, black curls spilling across Ronan's pillow, knowing he must look debauched and relishing the feeling nearly as much as the knowledge that Ronan is enjoying him.

With a groan barely muffled behind his teeth on his lower lip, Rhy lifts and spreads his thighs, grips a fistful of the sheets above his head, and breathes.

"Want you..." he repeats, entranced. "So fucking much."

The slick head of Ronan's cock slides against him, into him, rendering Rhy's voice a whine. His hips twitch involuntarily, a shuddering tension pulled taut as a harpstring through his body, only for Ronan to pluck in such a way the feeling of him can reverberate through Rhy's very soul.

"Ronannngh..."

There it is again. That uncanny sense of familiarity, the feeling of returning even though this is a place he's never been. Now that he knows what it is, he can't believe he didn't recognize it the last time they were together. This transcendent spark of vitality lighting him up, setting his soul on fire.

This is the ley line. This is the Singularity.

When this something inside Ronan awakens, every one of his senses sharpens with it. It becomes impossible to ignore the way Rhy's muscles reshape themselves around him, how they make a place for him as he sinks and sinks. He hears Rhy moaning his name, but he also hears Rhy's blood singing, the throbbing of his borrowed life which is also Ronan, or part of Ronan, or whatever Ronan is when he isn't Ronan.

He realizes he's moaning, too. Louder than he would ever mean to. How is he supposed to control his voice, though, with this ecstasy igniting his nerves? At some point, without noticing he'd done it, he'd seized Rhy's thigh and hauled up higher so that he could completely bury himself in that warm, welcoming void. Now that he's becoming aware of himself again, he loosens his grip with an apologetic stroke of his thumb.

All this, and he hasn't even come yet. He can't fathom what it's going to be like when he does. Fumbling for human speech, he asks Rhy breathlessly, "Are you feeling this?"

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