incognoscibilis | A vision with nowhere to go [Ronan, cont'd.]

Ronan's always preferred cars to bikes though, with his hands rested on Adam's hips, the press of Adam's warmth all along Ronan's front, and a constant powerful hum between this thighs, he thinks he might have to reconsider.

By the time they make it to Adam's apartment, Ronan feels like every nerve in his body is about to vibrate out of his skin. He can see the air, smell the lights, and Adam's grip on his hand makes him shiver as they stumble up to the second floor. Ronan all but plasters himself to Adam's back before he manages to open the door and then Ronan spins around, his hands on the front of Adam's chest, smoothing down his jacket.

"Feels like water," he murmurs, grinning as he meets Adam's hazel eyes. And Adam's eyes are whirlpools, dragging him under.

He decides to let it, leaning in with his lips parted, drowning in the taste of Adam's mouth.

"You're still high, aren't you?" Adam asks. By now, it's more amused than disturbed. Far from Kavinsky and whatever trouble he's making, it all feels distant and unimportant. Once they cross into Candlewood apartments, it's like they've laid a barrier.

"Water," he decides. They have all night now and Adam is already tired enough that Ronan wouldn't have a hard time convincing him to skip class in the morning. They have plenty of time for Ronan can get some water, come down from whatever Kavinsky's given him.

"Mmm," Ronan says, neither agreement or argument, as he slides his hands further down, fingers slip-slip-slipping under to touch bare skin.

He realizes after a few more thirsty kisses that Adam's whisper isn't his own agreement, but rather a decision-slash-order. Ronan doesn't move though, fingers trailing around to find the dip of Adam's spine. "Better than before," he says. "Rather just keep tasting you."

Adam allows himself to be amused and huffs out a laugh before he goes to pour them both a glass. "I'll still be here. Look, I'll drink one too." It's hard to believe that Ronan can be this soft and playful.. Adam smiles and kisses him, nudging Ronan against the counter.

"You're flirting." The realization made him laugh.

The water is cold, so cold, and it tastes like the best thing Ronan's had in his mouth after Adam's tongue. He swallows his entire glass in seconds, doesn't bother to wipe the wet off his lips as he sets it back on the counter, Adam pressed in close.

"Fuck you, I'm high," Ronan reminds him, though it doesn't feel completely true anymore. Only sort of true.

He drops one hand to hook a finger in a belt loop of Adam's jeans, tugging idly as his voice drops and he cocks his head. "You said you wanted to leave. We've left. Now what?"

"I wanted to leave," Adam says, the words interrupted by kisses, "because I wanted to be alone with you."

Alone for this, for the two of them pressed up against his counter and later probably in the shower or on the couch or in bed. It didn't matter much. Adam hadn't taken anything but he somehow still felt electrified, as euphoric as Ronan.

"Mmm," Ronan replies, losing himself in the heat of Adam's mouth, his hands slipping beneath Adam's shirt to feel smooth, warm skin. He slides one hand down, fitting it over the swell of Adam's ass and gripping tight, pulling him closer, right up against himself, between his thighs.

"Alone now," he points out, breaking the kiss to duck in and mouth at Adam's throat, nearly laughing against his skin as he says, "Fuck, you taste good."

"Yeah, we are."

Adam tilted his head back to open up the expanse of his throat for Ronan's kisses. They were both so far gone, with or without chemical influence. "Bedroom," he muttered, hooking a leg around his.

It isn't that Ronan's opposed to the concept of the bedroom, but it requires moving and he's pretty happy with having Adam right here, pressed up against him, the countertop supporting his weight. He even has Adam's leg hooked around him and the gorgeous, elegant curve of Adam's throat beneath his mouth.

"Here's good," he murmurs, sliding one hand inward, along the jut of Adam's hip to the front of his jeans, tugging them open with one easy movement. "Right here."

"You say that now, but wait and see how you feel when you wake up facedown on the floor tomorrow," he warns. Even as he says it, Adam cants his hips forward, pressing himself into Ronan's hand. It feel so good to be wanted, to be wanted by Ronan.

"What do you want here?"

Facedown. Facedown on the floor, with Adam...

Fuck.

Not now, he has enough presence of mind to remind himself. Maybe not ever, but definitely not now.

With a slight twist of his wrist, Ronan finds Adam already half-hard against his palm, the fabric of his boxers the only layer between skin as he gives a squeeze. "Wanna suck you," he says, his face still ducked against Adam's neck, taste of salt so sweet on his tongue. "Here."

Why not now? Adam would ask. He wants Ronan, has wanted Ronan, and wants Ronan to know he's serious. That this is more than secretive blowjobs. What he wants is to be close to Ronan in a way that goes beyond words.

But all of that seems so hazy, especially when Ronan squeezes his cock and promises to suck him off, right there.

"Shit," he breathes, suddenly feeling like he's the one who got high.

It's exactly the response Ronan wants, the shuddered desire dripping from Adam's lips. He indulges himself with one more taste of Adam's neck, his own lips puffy and red before he drops to his knees.

The world lurches for a second, spins, but he has a tight grip on Adam's waist to ground himself. Staring upward, he wastes no time in sliding Adam's jeans and boxers down his hips, just far enough to free his dick before ducking in, wrapping his lips around the tip.

He's been allowed this a few times now, more times then ever thought possible, more times than he deserves, and it still never fails to make him dizzy, cheeks hollowing as he sinks down, humming at the thick taste and scent of him already.

He can still see it though, the way Ronan temporarily loses his hold on gravity. Gently, gentler than Adam had thought himself capable, he smooths a thumb over Ronan's cheekbone and tries to ease the imbalance.

Then his own world lurches and Adam's brain is reduced to hot and wet and, most importantly, Ronan.

"Ronan," he groans out, the other boy's name almost a prayer.

He'll never tire of hearing the sound of his name on Adam's lips, breathy and aching and wanting like this. His eyes slip closed as he tries to open wider, sinking down as far as he can and then back, sucking at the tip.

Like this, it feels like worship - Ronan on his knees and Adam curled above him.

Appropriate.

He smooths his hands over Adam's hips and behind, fingers slipping down the dip of Adam's spine before settling over the meat of his ass, holding him, pulling him.

The grip of Ronan's hands is tight, almost bruising, but this time Adam doesn't flinch. He doesn't even think to be afraid. Instead, he cants his hips forward, chasing after the heat of Ronan's mouth.

How can he even last like this? Barely a few minutes and he can already feel his thighs trembling. "Ronan..." It comes out as a whine, high and constricted in his throat.

"Ronan...shit."

Ronan's getting better at this, has learned how to read Adam's body, to know when he needs to hollow his cheeks, when he should pull off to lick just the tip, when to wrap his hand around the base. He's not doing much more than using his mouth right now, alternating between sucking and licking, his gaze trained upward, watching Adam's face intently.

The muscles of Adam's thighs start to shake and his voice cracks on Ronan's name, and Ronan groans, his heart thudding as he sucks in air through his nose and keeps his mouth wet and tight and wanting.

Even now, Adam fears he might hurt Ronan, jerk his hips too far forward because he can't control himself. One hand grips the counter, the other still holding the back of Ronan's neck. Ronan keeps glancing up at him and it's fucking obscene.

He tries to hold out, leaned back against the counter, but he knows. He can feel it in the stutter of his hips and the taut coil low in his belly.

Adam's hand is warm on the back of Ronan's neck, an anchor as the world seems to spin around him, Adam right at the center, right where he belongs.

Ronan pulls back at the last second, lips puffy and slick with spit and he replaces his mouth with his hand, breath ragged as he tries to get Adam to give in, to crumple under Ronan's hand. He wants to feel the evidence of it on his skin, wants to watch as the wave of pleasure crashes over him, takes him under, fills him up.

Adam's legs still shake and he lets himself slide down to his knees with a moan. He grabs Ronan for a fierce, frantic kiss. More than ever, all he wants to do is tangle up with Ronan, pin him to the bed and show him how real this is.

The thought of it, of Ronan like that, pushes him over and Adam smothers a shout against Ronan's mouth.

Ronan shift as Adam slides down to his knees, slides a hand around to the dip of his back, keeping him from falling as his other hand continues on Adam's cock. It's awkward and completely uncoordinated but when Adam's mouth crashes against his, Ronan's breath catches and his chest fees too tight.

It's even better when Adam finally lets go, a soft shout muffled against Ronan's lips as he spills over Ronan's hand and all over his shirt. Ronan feels only the slightest pang of disappointment for not feeling the taste of it in his mouth or the cling of stickiness on his cheeks and lips. Having Adam shivering his arms, clinging to him, is even better.

He kisses Ronan like he means more than water or oxygen. A hand paws at Ronan's pants, opening them with all enthusiasm and no coordination. He doesn't care that they're there on the floor, sprawled out like idiots. Ronan is there and Adam wants to see that look on his face, to know he feels as good.

"Bed?" he asks, perfunctorily.

Adam's mouth is really like nothing else. Ronan loses himself in every kiss, lungs practically screaming for lack of air before breaking away as Adam uselessly tries to open Ronan's jeans. "Don't care," he says on a breathless laugh, already achingly hard just from getting Adam off and lifts up onto his knees enough to unbutton his jeans.

Gently, he takes Adam's wrist and guides it to the front of his boxer briefs, his cock straining against the fabric as he tips his head up to breath against the curve of Adam's jaw. "Just touch me. Fuck, please."

Adam nods, immediate and in a hurry to please Ronan. The world narrows down to them, the fine stubble of his scalp, the ragged breathing, and the tight bulge of his boxers.

Adam barely manages to slide Ronan's waistband down and then they're kissing again. Shaking fingers wrap around Ronan's dick and Adam breathes out again, still as amazed as the first time. "Anything you want."

The touch is tentative at first, like it always seems to be. Ronan figures that has something to do with Adam not having ever touched another boy before or maybe a little because he may not entirely want to, that somewhere inside himself he knows he's being controlled by a fucking sentient forest.

Ronan should push him away, he knows. He shouldn't take what isn't his to have.

But he can't help it, especially not when Adam's still kissing him, kissing like at least that much easy, like he actually does want this, this messed up, monstrous, broken boy.

Ronan clutches at Adam's sides then his arms and up to his shoulders, his entire body shaking at how good it feels, how tight Adam's grip is, how wet and sweet his mouth. He keeps his eyes shut, fighting the ache in his chest, dizzy still from the drugs and the hunger coursing through his veins, and wanting so, so much.

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