Work Text:
By the time Adam returned from his late shift at the garage, the sun had long since set beyond the horizon, taking all traces of reds and yellows and pinks with it, and leaving only a blue deep enough to fall into.The stars, bright holes in the endless void, seemed to reach out their light towards him in a desperate attempt to lure him away into the heavens. The sky wanted to swallow him up. He wanted to let it.
There was a fire inside him now that never seemed to go away, starting in his chest and spreading down to his fingertips. On calm nights it was easy to pretend there was no flame, that the universe would swallow everything Adam threw its way. But on nights like these, with stars screaming and the winds screaming louder, his chest filled with a raging fire that he could only snuff out for mere moments before it flared up again, stronger than ever. He did’t know if it was the power of Cabeswater or the remnants of his parentage. He didn’t know if it was just him. He didn't know what it meant to be himself anymore. It exhausted him.
He groaned and stretched as he got out of the car, popping his back in a way that would have surely made Gansey flinch.
The sun hadn’t even come up by the time he’d left for work that morning, and now it was already gone. Another day wasted away for the sake of a warm meal and place to live. Not that he could really call this living. It was surviving, toiling, scrounging, getting by. Just barely getting by.
Three steps later and he was outside of his door, sticking his keys into the lock and shaking the handle once, twice, three times. It was stuck, as usual, stubborn and rusty under his touch. Flames burned through his blood, and he tensed, letting out an angry sound and kicking the door before sliding to the ground in front of his doorstep, exhausted.
“You've got to be kidding me.” He whispered to no one. Or maybe someone. With ghosts and forests and dead kings, he was never alone any more.
And he most definitely was not alone tonight.
With a metallic screech the door behind him swung open, causing Adam to tumble backwards into the room. From his spot on the floor, Adam blinked up at the intruder, his already sore back now throbbing.
“Jesus, Lynch” he hissed, propping himself up on his elbows and rubbing his head.
“Parrish.” Ronan countered, his words heavy. “Still taking the Lord’s name in vain?” The corners of his mouth twitched up into the beginnings of a sharp smile. “You’re in a church for Christ’s sake.”
Adam didn’t laugh.
“What are you doing here Ronan?” Adam snapped, getting up from the floor and whipping his hands on the back of his jeans, suddenly aware of the black grease staining the tips of his fingers. “Can’t whatever shit you have cooking up wait for the morning?”
Ronan was smiling completely now, in all his razor toothed glory. Leaning down, he grabbed a large black backpack and slung it over his shoulder.
“Not this time,” he said, patting the bag lovingly, “Tonight is…right.”
There was something weighty in his words, nervous even, but Adam ignored it. Ronan Lynch didn’t get nervous. Adam was probably reading him wrong, which wasn’t surprising.
There was nothing remotely readable about the other boy. He had no instruction manual, no schematics, nothing to tell Adam how he ticked. He wasn’t a machine, to be built and destroyed and used for scrap. Nor was he an animal, to be studied and trapped and stripped bare. He was more. Much more.
He was powerful, immense, impossible, an entire universe waiting for the right time to implode.
Maybe that’s why, from the moment Adam saw that it was Ronan who was standing over him, all sharp grins and dangerous plans, he’d never really planned on saying no. He had his own gravity.
Not like Gansey, who kept them grounded, a sturdy force to pull them to the right path, hold them together. No, this gravity was different. It was the kind that sucked planets into black holes, the kind that bent light.
“Fine, let me just change my shirt.”
————————-
“How long have you been living here?” Ronan asked over his shoulder, the wind whipping his words away and sending them up up up the spirals of the steeple and into the heavens.
Adam shrugged. “A few months?”
“And you haven’t explored at all?” There was mock disbelief in his words. They both knew how busy he’d been. “Such a waste. I mean I’d expect it from Noah maybe…”
“Just get on with it, Ronan,” Adam prodded. He stumbled closely behind him, his eyes still adjusting to the darkness in a way that never seemed necessary to Ronan. “Where are we going?”
“You know how long I’ve been going to St. Agnes?”
“Are these unnecessary questions ever going to end?”
“Will you just fucking answer me?”
Adam shrugged, “Like forever.”
“You’re not as dumb as you look, Parrish.” Ronan smiled wider and rolled his eyes. “‘Pretty damn long’ is the correct answer.”
Adam shot him the bird, but the effect was slightly diminished by the fact that it was too dark to see, and Ronan had his back to him. It did make him feel better though.
“Which means,” Ronan continued, coming to a stop at a small, unassuming door at the back of the church. He grinned his Lynch grin, and pulled an old key from his pocket, a product of either thievery or dreaming. “I know all it’s secrets.”
After six and a half failed attempts, they unlocked the door. The smell of old wood and candle wax poured out of the entry way and Adam inhaled deeply. The smile never left Ronan's face, but now, Adam wore a similar one, his heart aching with curiosity.
There was electricity in his fingertips, like magic but different, more human.
Adam blew out a high pitched whistle of admiration. The sound bounced back and forth, echoing into the darkness. With a click, Ronan flicked open his lighter, the small flame shedding a yellow glow onto the old church walls. The door didn’t open to a back room, or a hallway, or the chapel, Adam realized. Instead it opened into a staircase, built of a mixture of metal and wood that spiraled up into nothingness.
“It goes into the old steeple” He explained and began climbing, taking his light with him. Adam moved to catch up. “There’s been some damage to it after one of the storms last summer. No cross anymore. But the bells okay.” He shrugged, his shadow following suit.
That caught Adams attention. He hated the church bell. At first it was nice, soothing, easy to listen too. But it soon became an annoyance more than anything else. It always rang out at the most inconvenient times—during long deserved naps or when he was trying to focus on homework. One time, he’d been meditating in an attempt to find the next place to patch up the ley line, when it rang so loudly that it completely broke his concentration. Any connection he might have had with Cabeswater was lost in an instant, at least for an hour or so. He was surprised he hadn’t tried to find the bell sooner. And a part of him really wanted to dismantle it once they reached the top. But Adam had never been one for vandalism.
Maybe Ronan really did bring out the worst in him.
As if on cue, Ronan stopped in front of him. He passed Adam the lighter and began twisting the key into the yet another door, his hands working faster this time, with expert ease.
It clicked open and moonlight poured into the staircase, silvery and smooth.
The bell was located in a small, hexagonal room with arched windows on every side, all open to the night air.
Adam took a deep breath and stepped towards a window, his minor quarrel with the church bell long forgotten. Below him stretched the entire town, illuminated by streetlights and headlights and everything in between. It was breathtaking to see the town this way, small and sleepy but still so alive. But why did Ronan care? What was so special that he had to take Adam here? He turned to question Ronan, to discover what weird, possibly illegal, plan he had up his sleeve, but he was nowhere in sight.
Ronan was gone.
Adam turned around, peering first into the staircase and then—with a flutter of panic—over the side of the building.
He stuck his head out the window and looked down, searching the bushes, the concrete, the-
“Up here, genius,” Ronan’s voice sounded from the heavens, causing Adam to crane his neck and look above him. He was met with the bottom of a boot, dirty and worn, about five feet from the top of his head.
“You’re insane.”
“And you’re boring,” but for once, Ronan’s voice isn’t quite convincing. He was perched atop the steeple, somehow balancing his body casually on the two foot wide surface where Adam supposed a cross should have been. Up there, he was an angel, dark and unforgiving, straddling the edge of life and death, sin and redemption.
Something about it made Adam suck in his breath. His chest pounded.
“If you’re thinking that you’re gonna get me up there…” he trailed off, aware of the accent that crept into his words. He might have followed Ronan to a lot of places, way more places than he’d ever have imagined, but this wasn’t worth it. He composed himself, his voice stern. “There’s no way in hell we’d both fit.”
“You could always sit in my lap,” Ronan prodded, winking.
Adam rolled his eyes, “You’ll have to be more convincing than that.”
Ronan shrugged, and reaching into his backpack. He pulled out a bottle and uncapped the top, tossing the lid into the air and watching it fall down down down onto the pavement far below. Then, he took a swig.
Adam observed the bottle with suspicion. It wasn’t like any alcohol he’d seen before, and he’d seen a lot. Too much. The bottle was long and clear, with dark black liquid filling it to the brim. It’s contents seemed to capture all light and reflect it tenfold making it appear as if there were tiny stars inside the bottle itself.
Or were they real stars?
“Its not liquor. Stop looking so flipped.” Ronan said, taking another sip. Stars danced down his throat. “Well, it is and it isn’t.” He tapped his fingers on the sides of the glass. “Different drink, same effects.”
Adam swallowed a dryness that had crept into his throat. “Where’d ya get it?”
“Are you really asking me that?”
Adam nodded and stared at his hands, he knew the answer. He could feel its energy from here, strange but familiar.
Ronan held back the bottle, looking at his handiwork with admiration.“I like to think of it as liquid bravery.”
Adam eyed him. “I don’t know if I like your kind of bravery.”
This made Ronan laugh.
“Then think of it as a drink to help remove the giant stick up your ass.”
“I do not have a stick up my ass.”
“Prove it.”
Silence. Adam stared. Ronan drank. He didn’t break Adam’s gaze.
“Jump onto the roof of the church.” Ronan prodded, his words already more slow, more pushed together. Adam began to wonder if this was the first drink he’d had tonight. “It’s only like…what? ten feet down? twelve?”
Adam looked over the edge of the windowsill. The church roof was flat save for a single stained glass dome that rose up in the middle, a skylight for the alter far below. There was plenty of room to land. It wasn’t too far. It definitely wasn’t impossible.
But why should he? What was in him that always made him so eager to prove himself? To show that he was good enough, worthy enough to be seen with the others? Worthy enough to be seen with Ronan Lynch?
Adam shook his head, pushing those thoughts aside. He was tired of overthinking things. He’d make the jump. To hell with work and Cabeswater and broken locks and the fire in his chest. To hell with sleepless nights and church bells and mixed signals and Ronan Lynch. He’d jump.
Adam took a deep breath, his lungs filling with cool night air, and then hurled himself over the side, careful to bend his knees when he landed to absorb the fall. He’d barely had time to bask in the perfect execution of it all when he heard a shout and Ronan came tumbling after him, his landing much rougher than Adams had been. He didn’t seem to mind.
He was on his second bottle now, and he pulled out another one for Adam, wicked grin on his face.
“Is this really why you brought me here?” Adam asked, taking Ronan’s offering but leaving it unopened at his side.“To try to get me drunk and hurl me off of buildings?”
“Fuck no.” Ronan replied lazily, throwing his head back and taking a swig of stars. He laid down then, his back propped up against the side of the stain-glass dome, and rested his hands behind his head. “I can’t force you to do anything, man,” he looked away from Adam a little too quickly, “nobody can.”
Adam was still standing, his body a stark outline against the distant mountains that glittered constellations of house lights and headlights. A breeze danced around the two boys, whispering in their ears.
“You’re wrong,” he said, and the wind raged around him. He thought of how many people pulled his strings, how many people he owed for one thing or another. His father had controlled him, Gansey had bought him, the forest used him…
“No. I’m not.” His jaw was set, his eyes dark and shining, reminding Adam of the liquid in the bottle, the endlessness of the sky. Ronan just shook his head and took another drink from his bottle, finishing it off. “Do you even know how fucking intimidating it is being…” He wavered for a second, teetering on the edge of confession and repudiation, “…around you?”
“Intimidating?” Adam couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows, his previous irritation lost in the knowledge that Ronan Lynch could find anyone to be intimidating, let alone himself.
“Thats what I said.” Ronan scoffed, a small muscle in his jaw twitching.”You think I can’t feel the power that you have? The energy inside of you?”
Adam could feel his face warming, his ears hot despite the cold air. He didn’t know where this conversation was going, but he did know that something about it was making his hands shake. He was too tired to be brave tonight, he realized. Too exhausted to avoid half-truths.
He needed courage.
Before he could think too much about it, he opened the bottle in his hands and took a sip. It was cool and smooth in his throat, but it warmed his stomach, the intoxicating taste of magic and alcohol lingering on his lips. He took another, then spoke. “That’s Cabeswater, not me.” His accent slipped in again.
“Bullshit.” Ronan got to his feet slowly, his body unsteady. “I’m so tired of your bullshit.”
Ronan took a step towards him and then stopped, rubbing his hands over his shaved head in frustration. Adam didn’t know if he’d ever seen Ronan this worked up. “Don’t you understand? You didn’t need Cabeswater, it needed you. No one else.”
Ronan was breathing heavily now, small clouds exiting his lungs with every exhale.
“That’s not—“
“Damn it, Adam.”
“Why does it even matter to you anyway?” Why do I even matter to you?
Ronan didn’t have an answer.
Adam couldn’t look at Ronan now, couldn’t stand the way he was staring at him, eyes as black as space, face like a wrathful god. It was all too much. Instead he looked out to the the town, the city he grew up in. Henrietta, asleep and dreaming in a place where dreams were universes waiting to have life breathed into them. He took another sip of his bottle, finishing it off. He thought maybe Ronan was going to say more, but he didn’t. Still, Adam could feel his eyes on him. He could always feel his eyes on him.
It took a lot not to stare back, sometimes.
So he sipped from another bottle and kept his back turned, all the while the fire in his stomach grew stronger and his thoughts foggier.
They stayed that way for a long time, Adam staring at the skyline, Ronan staring at Adam.
Finally, the silence was broken.
“Is that why you need your liquid courage?” Adam spun around to face Ronan, his mouth set in a stubborn line. The question was bold, his own drink doing the job well enough.
“What?” Ronan blinked, his mind taking a moment to catch up.
“Because I’m intimidating?” He didn’t try and hide his accent anymore, didn’t try and disguise his question. He was tired of it.
Ronan narrowed his eyes. “Maybe I just like drinking.”
“Or maybe you just like me.” He didn’t know why he said it, but there was no taking it back now. The accusation burned between them.
Ronan spun towards Adam in a fury, grabbing his coat and pulling him close. Their faces were inches away, close enough that Adam could see every detail on Ronan’s face: a scar just below his hairline, a freckle on his jaw, the way his brow furrowed so intensely that it formed a canyon above his eyes. His jaw was set, his voice a whisper,“…Fuck…you…Parrish.”
“Ronan wait—”
“No,” He cut him off, his voice heavy and quiet, dangerously quiet. “I’m not waiting. Because you know what? I’m not a fucking idiot. I know you’re hard for Blue. I know you can’t take your eyes off of her.” His words were slurred and pushed together, his eyes burning. “I’m not blind. And I sure as hell am not gonna sit around and wait for you to give me some pitiful speech about how fucking sorry you are.”
Before Adam had even had a chance to speak, Ronan had built up his walls, locked his doors, shut himself in. He tightened his hands on Adams jacket, his knuckles white. His face wasn’t unreadable anymore and Adam didn’t like what he saw.
“I knew it would never—“
This was all wrong.
“Ronan—”
What could Adam possibly say?
“No. I don’t need—“
He was finally cut off by Adam’s lips against his, quick and gentle and chaste. But that was all it took. Ronan froze, his eyes rushing up to meet Adam’s, questioning. His grip on the other boy’s jacket loosened but his hands did not fall. It was as if Ronan Lynch had become completely immobile.
“Maybe I like you too.” Adam’s voice was low, slow, and a little bit uncertain. Maybe Adam hadn’t fully believed until he said it out loud, but he felt it. Felt it like the warmth in his stomach or the chill in the air. Felt it like the magic at his fingertips—invisible and faint, but getting stronger each moment, with each breath. Undeniable.
“What?” Ronan’s voice was rough. He kept looking from Adam’s eyes to his lips.
“Thought I was the deaf one.” Adam replied. He tried to laugh, but no sound would come. His face was burning.
Ronan shook his head, still sorting through everything that had just happened, everything that had been said. For so long, it had been Adam.
Sure, there had been others in passing. Maybe he’d snuck a kiss or two with strange boys in parking lots, and maybe he’d seen Kavinky’s back seat one too many times…and his hood…and his..
But in the end, it always came back to Adam. His eyes always landed on him, and never got tired of looking. He’d lost count of how many times he’d almost touched him, almost brushed his hand, or swept hair from his face, how many times he’d woken up with Adams name on his lips. But Adam and him…it had always been just another dream, another thing in his life that was never quite real enough, never quite close enough to reality. So he had settled with little outlets, little acts to keep him from doing something incredibly stupid. Instead of holding Adam, he’d paid his rent. Instead of kissing him, he’d healed his hands. Instead of telling him everything, he’d made him a mixtape. But now there didn’t have to be any more ‘insteads’. It wasn’t a dream anymore.
Still, it was hard to believe. Churches were made for confessions, but Ronan never expected it to be like this—half drunk with Adam on the roof of St Agnes in the middle of the night, his hands shaking at his sides, a memory of a kiss playing at his lips, his body already aching for more. With Adam, he was always wanting more.
“Fuck you,” said Ronan, but this time he was smiling, the wide kind of smile that only came from alcohol and Adam Parrish.
“You wish.” Adam laughed, something like relief on his face.
Ronan raised his eyebrows. “Since when did you become a smart ass?” His voice was still a little shaky.
Adam shrugged. “Gansey blames you.”
Ronan laughed again. Sure, he’d embarrassed himself and the world was spinning and he’d forgotten how much he’d had to drink. But that didn’t matter. Adam was here, and he had kissed him. And God, Ronan could spend his whole life kissing him.
It took a moment for Ronan to realize he was staring again. But this time Adam was staring back. Ronan could feel his breath on his face, hot and sweet. He felt a fire in his chest, warm and alive and burning. Burning for Adam Parrish.
Slowly, carefully, Ronan leaned in closer, until their foreheads were touching, their mouths inches away. Ronan let his hands wander, his fingertips brushing over Adam’s bottom lip softly, as if he was testing himself, seeing how lightly he could touch him, just enough to know it was real. Adam froze, his hand coming up to grab Ronan’s wrist. He swore he could feel his heart beat there, strong and quick. Alive. One beat, two, and they were kissing again.
This time it was harder, their lips crashing against each other forcefully, as Ronan let out everything he’d been holding in for so long. And it seemed like Adam had done quite a bit of holding-in as well, judging by the way he responded, hands coming to grasp Ronan’s face, pulling him closer. Ronan pushed against him, causing Adam to step back until his back was pressed up against the stained glass dome. Despite the copious amounts of alcohol in his blood, Ronan still had more than enough strength to handle someone the size of Adam Parrish. He kissed him harder. Something like a purr escaped the other boy’s lips, low and animalistic, natural.
He’d imagined kissing Adam countless times, dreamt about it even. But this was totally and completely different. It was better, more real and a little more sloppy, due in part to a mixture of drunkenness and nerves. But that didn’t matter. Ronan laughed a little as he broke away for air, and then quickly grabbed Adam by the waist. He hoisted him up so that Adam was sitting on the stained glass. Adam in response wrapped his legs around Ronan, and moved his lips down down down, kissing Ronan’s cheek, his jaw, his neck.
Without thinking, Ronan dug his fingers into Adams back, feeling the thick cloth of his jacket between them. Adam stopped, laughing, and shrugged off his jacket before continuing, moving his mouth to the nape of Ronan’s neck and biting gently, teasing his skin.
Ronan gasped.
He threw his head back, his eyelids fluttering shut against the stars. Parrish was so good at this. He shouldn’t be this good at kissing of all things. Had he had any practice? If so with whom? Aglionby girls? Town girls? Blue? Other boys? Ronan didn’t even want to think about any other talents Adam might be hiding or where he had learned them. He didn’t think he could take it.
Instead, he simply ground his body into Adams, leaning closer until there was no space between them, Ronan’s waist wedged between the other boy’s legs.
From the back of his mind, he could ear the breath catch in Adam’s throat and Ronan smiled. His hands were on Adams back now, but they teased at his hemline, toying with the bare skin between his shirt and his jeans. Adam had goosebumps.
“Adam.” God, why hadn’t they done this sooner?
Adam got the idea, and he quickly peeled off his work shirt, leaving his chest and shoulders exposed, strong and smooth like a marble under the moon light. He kissed Ronan harder, his hands exploring the hard line of his jaw, the short buzz of his hair, the cruel twist of his collarbones and under his white shirt. Fingers danced on the tattoos on his neck, making Ronan shiver. It was all fair game.
Ronan breathed out audibly, a sigh into the darkness. Adam took this as an invitation. Slowly, hands shaking, he reached for the belt loop of Ronan’s pants and pulled him even closer, his mouth never once leaving the other boy’s. Ronan hissed again as his pants grew tighter, his body already responding to the closeness of Adam, the smell of him, the feeling of his legs wrapped around him, hands so close to him lingering, teasing. He wanted him, for a long time now he’d wanted him. He wanted Adam Parrish so much it made him ache, his scent engulfed him—car oil and damp leaves, fuel and sweat. Traces of coffee and alcohol lingered on his tongue.
Suddenly Ronan stopped, stumbling back slightly, his hands resting on Adam to stop the progress on his zipper.
Adam’s eyebrows knotted together, and he bit lip, confused. Then, he slid from his place on the dome and moved away, hands coming up to cover his face. “I’m so sorry,” He shook his head “I just thought…”
“No, wait.” Ronan said quickly. His head was spinning.“Thats not it. I do want this. You.” Some of the words blended together and he paused, moving closer and brushing a flyaway hair from Adams still-red face. “But I think I’m a little drunk.” he admitted, his hand lingering on Adams cheek absently. He wondered if the color was from embarrassment or alcohol. Adam hadn’t had very much, but Ronan’s concoctions were strong.Too strong. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be.
“Maybe a lot.” He’d lost count of an hour ago. “And you have the tolerance of a three year old.”
He shrugged, apology written all over his face.
“And if I we do this, I want to know for sure that you're ready, sober.”
Adam swallowed and nodded.
“I just…” Ronan started, “I need this to be right.”
“Right,” said Adam, kissing Ronan gently this time, “Okay.” He looked over at his shirt and jacket on the ground, surrounded by empty bottles. He pulled the shirt back on and kicked one of the bottles, shaking his head. Adam did feel a little drunk, a little more daring, a little more reckless, like he wanted to let whatever fire that lived in his chest burn, to explode into Ronan and engulf them both in all the worst of ways. Realizing how little sense this made, Adam shook his head. Yeah, he was definitely drunk. But that didn’t make him stupid. “No way we’re getting down from here though.” He leaned against the stained glass and slid down until he was sitting on his jacket. “Not tonight at least.”
For Ronan, the world was still spinning. He nodded. Carefully, he slid down to sit next to Adam and took a deep breath, his heart still pounding in his ears. Adam sighed, and leaned his head on Ronan’s shoulder, his eyes gently closing.
“Gansey’s gonna give us hell if he finds out we got stuck up here.” Adam mumbled sleepily, exhaustion from the day finally taking hold of him.
“Not as much as he’ll give us if he finds out I got you wasted.” Ronan laughed.
“ m’not wasted,” Adam insisted rather weakly, “just tired.”
“Then sleep.”
"First..." Adam paused, his voice soft and a little uncertain, "Why did you ask me to come here tonight, really?"
"I couldn't sleep." Ronan wasn't sure if that was the fully true. He didn't lie, but sometimes the truth was too complicated. The truth was, he didn't know what he'd had in mind for that night. Maybe he'd just wanted to be near Adam. Maybe he'd just wanted to be near the church. Maybe he had just wanted to get drunk and tell Adam everything and get it over with. But he'd never expected this.
Adam shook his head, but his eyes were still shut tightly. “Well, I can’t sleep if I know,” he paused, thinking, “if I know you’re gonna be up all night worrying.”
Ronan put his arm around Adam, pulling him closer.
“Tonights different. Its…right.” He smiled a little more. “I’ll be okay.”
Maybe this time, a part of him believed it.
That seemed to be enough for Adam, who settled into Ronan’s chest easily, drifting off to sleep before Ronan could think of anything more to say. It only took Ronan a few minutes before he too dozed off, to a sleep without dreams.
In the morning, when mass started and people began to pour into the church, Declan would wonder, with a hint of annoyance, where his brother might be. Had he looked up for a moment, he might have figured it out. He might have seen the silhouette of him, leaning next to another boy, their shadows black against a rainbow of sun streaked glass, their hands intertwined in their own form of prayer.