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

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?"

It is nearly too much. Or-- No, not nearly. It is far too much, a crashing flood of everything that surges through him, into him, all around in a suffocating cacophony of ecstacy and ache entwining.

Ronan sinks into him inch by inch, prying him open body and soul, clawing back the flesh he wears on the surface to reveal the open veins beneath, and still sliding in deeper despite what can (and cannot) be found there. He sifts through the façade of little white lies and half-truths Rhy tells himself, reaching past the solid form of his near-perfect body to the jagged, raw edges of the magic stitching him together underneath, where he curls himself into the fraying threads and stays there, filling up a space Rhy was only aware of by the distant instinct the Singularity instilled in him when it had dimmed.

Nothing in him feels dark now.

Rhy cries out, once-- and then again when Ronan's fingers dig into his thigh, yanking his hips up in one rough motion that drives him in to the hilt. His head spins.

Ronan's voice cuts through the thundering pulse in his head, in his chest and stomach, in his cock trapped between them. He does not need to elaborate.

"Y-yes," he sobs, gulping for air. Rhy's voice sounds like it has never sounded before, ragged and rapturous, undone. His arms have come up at some point he doesn't recall to wrap tight around Ronan's neck. There, he holds on, shaking, tight and twitching around Ronan taking up far too much space inside him in more ways than he could hope to articulate even if he knew the words. He does not. They are beyond words, anyway.

Good. Good. This is exactly what he'd suspected, what he'd been hoping for. Ronan hates it when he can't deliver on a promise, but now he's certain he can give Rhy everything he needs. For how long, he can't guess, but for now...

"I won't hurt you," Ronan assures him. He remembers the first time he felt the ley line use him as a conduit, the shock of being electrified, how it revived parts of him he hadn't noticed were dead before. If Rhy's feeling anything like that — especially while his body is as vulnerable as this — Ronan doesn't doubt it's terrifying.

He doesn't move just yet, allowing Rhy a long moment for both his body and soul to adjust to Ronan's invasion. They're locked as close as they can get. Ronan can't possibly drive any deeper. The only thing Rhy has to do is surrender the very last bit of control he's clinging to. He doesn't have to guard himself from Ronan.

"It felt so good when you came inside me," he murmurs, in case Rhy's looking for a reason to risk carrying on. "You left this feeling in me. Like I had your life inside me. It stayed with me for hours after you were gone. I want you to know what that feels like, Rhy. Imagine taking part of me with you."

Rhy's chest heaves against Ronan's as he drags him down as close as possible, clinging with his whole body -- arms around his neck and shoulders, thighs gripping his hips, spine arching up to bring them together. He finds Ronan's mouth again, or close enough to it, open mouth pressing against skin like he's trying to breathe him in more than kiss him.

Ronan's heartbeat echoes through his blood. He can feel it deeply, the shape of him-- not of his body, but of all of him, another life alongside his, a synchronicity in the way their breaths mingle, in the very rhythm of his pulse that tries to match the one inside.

Though he doesn't really, consciously understand what Ronan is asking for, he gives it without thinking. It's the most obvious and only choice, a surrender he never even had a chance of resisting. Everything they talked about before, everything about this that should have given him pause, that makes it a foolish decision neither of them should have made, all of those silly little problems have evaporated entirely from Rhy's head. There is nothing now except the feeling. And the need.

If this is how Ronan felt with him, it's no fucking wonder they could barely part. Rhy had felt plenty of sparks then, and yet-- he'd had no idea. Now, lying beneath Ronan like this, he understands.

"Show me," he whimpers, and it feels so good he doesn't even have the capacity to be ashamed of how his voice comes out. "Ronan... please..."

Ronan runs a soothing caress up and down Rhy's thigh, assuring him that his plea has been heard. He's not going to be denied. Ronan will show him exactly what it's like, why they're made for each other, how much he can do for Rhy now that he understands what was missing.

Without delaying a moment further, Ronan begins to move. He hardly withdraws at first, hesitant to leave the tight heat of Rhy's body for even a second. These subtle thrusts feel so incredible, though, that Ronan can't help but pick up the pace almost immediately. Panting with increasingly wild need, his breath hits Rhy's skin in hot bursts every time he sinks deep.

"You're perfect," he slurs, his drawl elongating his vowels so that he sounds drunk. It's not just a compliment, though. It's the truth. The pleasure is beyond what he'd imagined, even when the fantasy of having Rhy like this had initially overwhelmed him. He hadn't understood just how much it would feel like this is what he should be doing. Not a mere desire, but his function. The very reason for him. He is supposed to be pouring as much of himself as he can into Rhy, who is meant to receive him.

He captures Rhy's lips once more, tongue driving into his mouth and lapping as if Rhy is something Ronan intends to consume before this is done. But this isn't a violent fuck. Even as Ronan's thrusts hit a determined rhythm, he doesn't lose control. His strong grip on Rhy's thigh keeps him trapped at the perfect angle for his pounding. As long as he doesn't thrash, as long as he continues to trust Ronan and surrender to him, then he has nothing to worry about.

It's been a long time since he's been fucked like this-- or, rather, since he's let another man take him. But it has never actually been like this. There's a muted twinge of guilt, somewhere deep down and in the back of his mind, when the thought flickers through his head that this feels even better than being with Alucard. And then it is gone. He can feel bad about it later. Right now, he can't concentrate on anything that isn't Ronan. It is a physical impossibility.

The shallow movements ease him into a rhythm, a gentle swell and fall like breathing. He closes his eyes, teetering on the edge, grasping with something unseen inside his heart for purchase. It feels like being on the edge of a cliff, with the unknown darkness below promising to catch him in the sweetest voice imaginable. He wants to trust it. He wants to let go. But holding on is all he's ever known, and at first, instinct only makes him scrabble against it like an animal, clinging with his fingers digging hard into Ronan's back.

If he falls, he's not sure he can ever find his way back out.

He's not sure that he'll want to.

Ronan's hot breath spills out against his throat, his jaw, his lips. Ronan's tongue is in his mouth. His hands grip and brace, holding his body steady. He pushes in, with his cock and his tongue and his magic, carving out a space for himself with a confident precision both impassioned and exact. It kindles something deep in Rhy's gut, something a thousand times better than the heat of hard liquor and sex he's been hopelessly trying to warm himself with all this time.

With Ronan bottoming out inside him, Rhy's body arches helpless in his arms. His nails bite into inked skin, holding on desperately. He moans, incapable of words, an embarrassment of gasping little noises escaping right into Ronan's mouth in turn. It is everything he can do just to feel. No resistance. Defenses cracking.

He is slipping, falling, just like in his dreams--

Rhy opens his eyes, tears clinging like stars to his lashes. His hand finds the side of Ronan's neck, then his face, cupping his cheek and jaw to pull him fully into view. A ragged whimper catches in his throat, exhaled in a sob on Ronan's next inward thrust.

Ronan meets Rhy's gaze, his eyes alight with ferocious vigor. Hot and charged, they're such an unnaturally molten hue it's almost impossible anyone could ever have mistaken him for a human. If Rhy wants to see him, Ronan will let him look. He holds that gaze without blinking, even as he drives into Rhy again and again.

He doesn't know what exactly Rhy's afraid of, but Ronan assures him breathlessly, "It's okay." He takes Rhy's face in his free hand with a touch more tender than ought to be possible while the rest of him is working so hard to take Rhy apart. "You're with me. I've got you now."

In every way. He's so sure of it. Once he makes Rhy understand just how they're meant for each other, everything that was keeping them apart will fall away. He can do for Rhy what Kylo does for him. Ronan will make this exquisite boy his own, grow into him until they're all stronger for it.

Do you understand now? he asks Kylo. Do you see what we can have?

Pulling Rhy's thigh higher, Ronan folds his body, doing all he can to push even deeper. As if he could drill into the very center of him. Moans shudder out of him with every thrust into that tightening space, each one shocking him with a pleasure so intense he's sure he's reached his peak. Yet he keeps climbing.

His hand drops away from Rhy's face, reaching between their bodies. He curls his fingers around Rhy's cock, massaging him in consolation for all that's being done to him. Promising him it'll be worth it. Ronan is still watching his face, intense with concentration while admiring the beauty of his undoing. He wants to see the moment Rhy breaks for him.

For as long as he can, Rhy looks into his eyes, and each thrust evokes a soft, voiced gasp, his fingertips pressed tight along the curve of Ronan's jaw. They are a breath apart, until Rhy can only get lost in his eyes, until he can swim in them, float weightless. Safe inside the shelter he provides.

Rhy's thumb smooths across his cheek, trembling-- but soothed, reassured somehow. Looking into Ronan's eyes, he knows he will not slip away into the nothing again.

Another cry shivers from his throat when Ronan adjusts his body for both their pleasure, moving him with an ease that feels at once shocking and yet completely natural. Rhy's head falls back. His hand slips, catching Ronan's bicep. His other leg hooks around Ronan's waist, leveraging him closer, deeper, until it drives the air from his lungs and leaves him panting loud and open-mouthed. It is an active surrender. A welcoming.

"Ple-ease--" he sobs again, a cracking whisper. I don't want to disappear.

It is a gift he never asked for, which he would have never refused. Now, he can feel it slipping, feel himself slipping.

At least-- until Ronan came along. He shines so brightly, Rhy isn't sure how he'd ever looked away.

He comes with a choking, high noise he never would have thought a person capable of. Rhy's nails dig into Ronan's arm as he curls himself closer, muscles seizing, wracked with helpless shudders as he gives himself over. He empties himself for Ronan, without a single thought in his head except the lingering image of those impossible blue eyes.

Rhy is so beautiful, Ronan's heart aches to look at him. It's the kind of beauty that drove the men of ancient myth to madness, inspiring as much destruction as it does adoration. Even now, in the act of taking him, Ronan can't seem to get his fill. He drives himself deeper and deeper into the object of his desire only to find himself needing more, ravenous for him. Desperate in his pursuit, he can feel himself starting to lose control.

Thankfully, Rhy gives him exactly what he's after.

Fixated on those plush lips, parted to let slip a chorus of supplicating cries, Ronan watches for the moment Rhy cracks. When it finally hits, his climax is a wave that tosses both their bodies, as Ronan holds tight to keep him from slipping away and then they both crash together. Warmth spills over his hand and he smears it over Rhy's chest as he reaches up, seizing Rhy's jaw to drag him into another kiss. He smothers his moans into Rhy's mouth as all this writhing and shuddering pushes him to the edge of sanity.

Lightning flashes somewhere deep inside him, running all the way down his spine, his hips snapping one last time to thrust all of that wild energy out of his body and into Rhy's. His climax strikes with such power, it doesn't even feel like it belongs to him. It throws him forward, his cock burying itself to the hilt, pulsing hard as it pumps Rhy full of his seed. His life, as promised, to satisfy and sustain this breathtaking boy.

When he's spent himself completely, Ronan slumps in a slow collapse, trapping Rhy beneath him. Gasping against his mouth, refusing to withdraw even an inch, Ronan shivers and waits for a sign of what to do next. He doesn't know if it was too much. He doesn't know if Rhy wants more.

It is a burst of heat like electricity, sudden in the overwhelming force of its intensity, lingering and crackling along his limbs and in his chest, his stomach, his tongue. Rhy muffles obscene moans into Ronan's mouth without a care, his hips twitching and shuddering up to press their bodies close as the inconvenient constraints of tangibility allow. For a few long seconds, there he stays, panting against Ronan's kisses, quivering in the aftershocks.

Then, Ronan releases a breath -- and Rhy's leg -- and they collapse together.

Rhy buries a hand in his hair, fingers curling against the nape of his neck. He is too dazed to speak yet, but the gesture is enough to plead: Stay.

That's all Ronan needs. He's not going anywhere as long as Rhy wants him here. For all that pretense of using Rhy solely for his own pleasure, the secret is that Ronan's pleasure comes from service. That hand, cradling him close and asking him to stay, might be the best thing he's felt since they started, because it means Rhy isn't ready to let him go.

He adjusts their tangled limbs just enough to ensure they're both going to be comfortable lying here a long while. Even that small movement is briefly overwhelming, reigniting his awareness of Rhy's body squeezing around him. A helpless sound slips past his lips, almost in the shape of Rhy's name.

Capable of very little else, he turns his head to nuzzle cheek to cheek. His hands run slowly over every part of Rhy they can reach, a gesture meant to be both grateful and comforting. He understands how lucky he is, that Rhy let him do this. He also understands it can't have been easy — and they haven't even gotten to the hardest part, which will be convincing Kylo to let them do this again. Often. Every day, if that's what Rhy needs.

Rhy's breath hitches too, a tiny shudder sliding down his spine when Ronan moves, adjusting them without withdrawing. Gingerly, while trying to catch his breath, Rhy lets his legs down to relax on either side of Ronan. Every movement is a new flicker of feeling, butterflies behind his ribs.

His thumb strokes the soft skin behind Ronan's ear, down his jaw and the side of his neck. Rhy presses their faces close and closes his eyes.

Each touch drags the electricity in his blood like a magnet through whatever part of his body Ronan's fingers slide down. Entranced by the rhythm of it, Rhy's breathing slows and deepens, his heart matching the pace Ronan's sets for him. It is almost too much, his skin too hot and sensitive-- but at the same time it feels perfect too, that Ronan should draw out the pleasure of it without making him suffer the need to fully let their bodies cool.

Rhy sighs out a trembling breath. He used to remember what words are. An attempt at one just yields a low groan that might have been part of Ronan's name.

Ronan answers by turning his head just enough to brush a kiss to Rhy's cheek. An acknowledgment. An agreement. Yes, he knows. He feels it, too. It's thrumming in his blood. Every place his skin makes contact with Rhy's, a kind of warmth that's more than heat feels like it's dancing back and forth between them.

And the funny thing is, Ronan has no idea if it's a consequence of magic or simply the feeling of being with Rhy. Maybe he would feel this if he was nothing more than human.

He stops himself just short of considering the question of love, although the next few kisses he drags along Rhy's jaw are as romantic as they are sensual. They've just shared something phenomenal and rare. He wants Rhy to feel all the worship he deserves for allowing Ronan to have him.

"I could live right here," he sighs, rocking his hips just enough to make it clear where he's talking about. Not this bed. Not this room. Inside Rhy himself.

His hands slide from Rhy's thighs to the small of his back, linking loosely beneath him. He tucks his face into the crook of Rhy's neck, feeling that pulse against his lips. He's put his mouth to the Singularity before and felt this very same thing: belonging.

Ronan's lips are so wonderfully soft, each breath a warm caress along his jaw. Rhy tips his head back, eyes shut, letting out a sigh--

The tail end of which shivers in his throat, breaks into a quietly euphoric moan. His thighs tense briefly, toes curling. He nuzzles into Ronan's silky hair next to his cheek.

He finds his voice, if only barely, a whisper pressed to Ronan's head. "I'd be tempted to let you."

His hand runs up and down Ronan's spine, tracing idle patterns on his back, wanting only to touch him.

"I want to... keep feeling you, just like this."

And he rocks his hips again too, in case there was any doubt. If Ronan wants to go again when he's ready, he needn't wait.

Thanks to the combined magic of his dreamt oil and his overwhelming desire for Rhy, Ronan is perpetually ready. Though his cock throbs harder as Rhy moves, he'd only softened just enough to make his reinvigorated swell obvious enough to feel. The groan that slips past his lips sounds almost pained, drawn thin with the understanding that nothing will ever sate him, but the need to strive for it makes his heart beat faster anyway.

He hardly moves, at first. His hips give the slightest twitch in response, feeling out how tight Rhy's squeezed around him when they're lying like this.

"It's not too much?" he asks. Rhy isn't Ronan, after all. He's not used to taking it at all, let alone repeatedly. Potentially for hours, if they're not stopped.

His next thrust is a subtle one, timed with a deep inhale and exhale. He's doing little more than savoring Rhy's body, their hips gently swaying together. Holding Rhy in his embrace, Ronan would pull him closer if they had any closer to get.

He'll feel Rhy tighten further, his thighs coming up again to squeeze softly on either side of Ronan's hips. His breath shivers out of him, and he presses his fingertips into the small of Ronan's back with a whimper muffled behind his bitten bottom lip.

"It might be."

His own body hasn't quite recovered, but the truth is, that's not what he's after. It never was. He realizes that now -- what feels good isn't his own pleasure, it's Ronan's, inside him. The echo of it, bouncing back, the heat trapped between them. He wants to feel more of Ronan than himself. He wants to get utterly lost in it. He wants 'too much' more than 'just enough.'

"I've... never felt this way before."

Ronan doesn't pretend that Rhy means that in any kind of romantic way. Where he might once have been fooled, he understands enough now to know that what's happening between them is an exchange of energy. It's physical — and possibly even spiritual — but Rhy isn't falling in love with him. What he's never felt before is Ronan's enchantment, something he'd inadvertently used to bind Adam to him back home and used more intentionally with Kylo in the Horizon.

All of them have gotten something unique out of their bargain with Ronan, but Rhy is the first one who's taking life from him. Maybe it's cruel of Ronan to give him a taste of this when he knows Rhy will have to humiliate himself if he ever wants to feel it again, but then, how would he know what he was asking for if Ronan didn't show him first?

"It's even better than I thought it would be," he confesses. Their last time together had been so relentlessly amazing that it'd seemed like they might not be able to part, and that feeling was only a fraction of this.

It's impossible to keep from seeking more. His thrusts pick up a slow but steady rhythm, churning Rhy from deep inside. Voice quivering with the shocks of pleasure even that gentle movement sends through his nerves, he continues, "I want this for you. Always. Anytime you want it. Doesn't it feel right? You should be filled with me. You would never be alone."

It is too much, too soon-- He doesn't care. He is greedy, wanting, needing more even as the magic and the pleasure sing through his blood so sharp it's almost pain.

Rhy's body arches beneath Ronan's in a quivering spasm, blunt nails digging hard into the crowded canvas of his back. He is panting, wild, clinging like this is his only salvation. Like he instinctively knows it is true. When Ronan grinds deep inside him, the pressure is so intense it chokes a sob from Rhy's throat.

"I don't want to be alone," he pleads, cradling Ronan's head against himself with his other hand still at the back of his neck. It is clumsy, a little rough. The panic is an echo of a memory, and still enough to press his lips to Ronan's hair and beg. "This feels-- yes. Just like that. Right and perfect and-- alive. With you."

Even Rhy doesn't think this is love. Not like this, not yet. But it is important. If he wants to feel guilty for using Ronan, now is hardly the time.

"I feel you -- your heartbeat, your warmth -- inside me. It feels so..."

This is the most complete he's felt in months.

A moan rolls out of Ronan, aching with desire. His hips jerk more and more frantically, chasing the promise of fulfillment that's buried deep, deep inside Rhy. He can feel Rhy's loneliness like it's a piece of himself that's splintered off, and every part of his being is crying out to be reunited with it. It feels so close to him when they're like this, like he can grasp it if he just keeps pushing.

"I'll be so good to you," he promises breathlessly, as if this is a negotiation. As if he's not already here, doing it.

But this is only the beginning. Could so easily be the end, too, if Rhy doesn't come away from this convinced of Ronan's value. It's an unbearable notion, the possibility of separation. Right now, he can't imagine stopping, let alone stopping forever.

Rhy's clawing hands, so desperate for him, only spur him on. The more Rhy wants, the more Ronan will give. He drags his mouth over Rhy's skin, pressing less coherent promises there and pleading wordlessly for Rhy to take more of him. He wants to flood Rhy with his warmth, to drown him in it.

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

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