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The kiss was not what Adam expected.
At the same time, it was so much less, and yet, so much more—he didn’t actually know what to expect, he’d never kissed anyone. He imagined fireworks and butterflies, but it was ground zero, and he was stuck just beneath the nuclear explosion—it was as simple as the press of Ronan’s lips against his, and he was ready to burn. And yet, Ronan was so unsure and wary, so unlike what Adam knew about him, vulnerable and cautious—more dangerous than Adam ever considered.
It felt like a wildfire, like an oil spill, like a stampede, but it was contained. Focused.
It was like a snakebite.
It was like being able to feel through Ronan’s skin, through his feelings and emotions, through his dreams.
Adam imagined some distant, dreamed self. Someone worthy of Ronan’s single-minded focus. Ronan never lied, unless he had a secret to keep.
Adam knew he’d been one of Ronan’s secrets, and it made his head spin, and his fingers tremble where they teased the short hairs at the nape of Ronan’s neck.
Ronan had kept the secret until it came spilling out like an avalanche.
For so long.
So lonely.
So lonesome.
He couldn’t think of anyone else. Just himself. Just Adam . Lost in the heaven of Ronan’s dream.
His lips.
His hands.
His fire.
Adam dove in head-first, like he had nothing to lose. And, really, he didn’t. It was always about Ronan, even before either of them had realised it. It was all about that rare smile, unguarded in its surprise. It was about the spark in his eye as he looked at Adam when he was impressed with his work, his planning, or his knowledge, or simply, every time he believed that Adam could be so much more.
And because of Ronan, he was.
He was more. He was better.
And he kissed back hard enough to prove it.
There, just outside of The Barns—just where Ronan grew up, after that first whisper of a kiss in his childhood bedroom, shared only a few hours before—with a sobering breeze tearing through their clothes.
Clothes that felt too tight, too suffocating.
Not enough, and yet, too much.
It was all at the same time. It was Cabeswater, it was a dream, and it was reality. It was the past and the future. It was the present.
It was just Adam and Ronan.
Lost in the feeling of skin, of lips, of need .
It was magical, and it was mundane.
Just them. Kissing, needing more.
They were outside, the evening breeze rumpling their clothes and Adam’s hair, but it felt stifling. Like he needed to get out, just before he was burned alive by the inferno of Ronan’s touch.
He decided to stay and burn.
He wanted to burn. In the most glorious way, at the hand of a dreamer.
Ronan pulled him closer as if disbelieving. He held him tight against his hard chest as if he was making sure Adam was real. His arms were strong, reassuring, they were safe, as if Adam was something he could pull out of his dream. He held Adam as if he had dreamed him and wanted to be sure he wouldn’t lose him between sleep and wakefulness.
“I’m here,” Adam whispered into the breath of space between their hungry lips. “I’m here,” he repeated when Ronan’s fingers buried themselves in his hair, pulling, hoping, wanting.
“... like a dream,” Ronan sighed; his voice dazed, his expression drunk.
“No,” Adam whispered, cupping Ronan’s cheeks. He stared into those stormy eyes, but there was no danger, no dreamy haze in them, not this time. It was just hope, desperate and childish.
Not like Ronan at all, but at the same time, exactly like him.
“You are like a dream,” he said, dropping his heavy gaze back to Adam’s lips. “My dream,” he whispered. “So beautiful. Are you real?”
Adam wanted to protest, but then he remembered the stolen glances, the cautious laughs and the delicate smiles.
He was beautiful.
Maybe not to himself, but definitely to Ronan.
Adam wasn’t sure he could speak. The air between them was too heavy, too suffocating, too charged.
Once again, it felt like he’d thrown himself in the middle of the storm, let it take and overwhelm him—destroy him. He teetered on the edge of destruction, but Ronan’s arms held him whole.
“Stay…” Ronan said. Or asked. Or, maybe, commanded. Whatever it was, Adam couldn’t refuse. He needed it, he needed to stay. He needed Ronan.
But he couldn’t speak.
It was too much. He was seen . He felt. He was wanted.
Adam nodded, and did the only thing that seemed reasonable at that moment: he kissed Ronan again, with everything he had. Again , with everything he’d ever held back. Again , with all of the love he’d never known. Again , with all the hope he could ever muster.
Before he even realised, he was on the sofa, he was inside, still wrapped safely in Ronan’s arms.
And they were still kissing. Endlessly, as if time had stopped.
And maybe it had, like so many times before.
Maybe Ronan dreamed this up.
Maybe it was never real.
But it was, and Adam knew it.
The press of Ronan’s body on top of his was real. The delicate fingers of a dreamer, intertwined with his calloused ones, were real. The lips, moving swiftly against his were real.
Everything was real, but it felt like a dream
A dream he never wanted to wake up from.
Ronan laid on his stomach, head turned towards Adam, eyes glazed. He looked tired, but happy, with his pale cheeks dusted pink, and his pink lips swollen purple. He looked like he should be kissed more, but not just yet. He looked like he should be admired, but he was the one admiring.
Ronan’s dreamy eyes were fixed on Adam, who lay on his side, brushing his shoulder idly with the tips of his fingers. The lines of the intricate tattoo were tantalising and inviting. Like a map to a treasure, only, the treasure was all there, in front of Adam, kissed out of breath and beautifully unguarded. The treasure was soft around its sharp edges and needy in the small breaths between kisses.
It felt like it had been hours, but maybe it was only minutes.
Kissing Ronan was like Cabeswater—impossible and magical at first, but as he let himself be consumed by the intimacy and the wonder it felt like home .
Somehow, Ronan was missing his shirt. Somehow, Adam felt like he’d been the one to rip it off, needing more, needing to be closer.
Ronan was beautiful when he was vulnerable.
He was beautiful when he was on guard.
He was sharp and dangerous, he was loving and brave. He was a catastrophic contradiction.
He was real.
Adam wanted to kiss him again. He wanted to kiss him breathless every day until the end of time, until the end of the world, until even the magic was no more.
Ronan gripped Adam’s hand that lay on the pillow between them with unimaginable care. He brushed every knuckle with a pad of his thumb as if he was trying to memorise Adam’s skin. Adam’s breath hitched when he watched Ronan—harsh and dangerous on the outside, but pure and safe on the inside—bring Adam’s hand to his lips. It felt more personal than anything Adam’s encountered, it felt like touching Ronan’s soul. It was more intimate than the hungry kisses they had just shared, more intimate than ripping each other's shirts off in blind desperation to get closer.
Adam felt worshipped.
Adam watched Ronan’s eyelids droop, his hand still held firmly against the soft lips.
Ronan was beautiful, with his abrasive exterior, his long eyelashes, and his fiercely loyal interior. He was a deadly cocktail of emotions and needs, and dreams and war. But he was Ronan—perfect, just the way he should be. Perfect for Adam, even if it took him so much longer to accept that.
And now, he wanted to worship Ronan too. Every inch of his skin, every faction of his dreams, and every sliver of his soul. He pulled his hand from Ronan’s grip, and slowly traced his fingers up his forearm, brushing the scratches on his shoulder—Chainsaw’s work.
“Can I?” He wasn’t sure what he was asking, but Ronan nodded, eyes still closed.
“Anything,” he said and Adam’s heart squeezed.
He let his trembling fingers trace the twisting edges of the Celtic knot, the inky black feathers of a raven, scary maws of a demon. He kissed the petals of Rose Glen and every leaf that marked the road to Cabeswater. Every brush of ink reminded him of Ronan’s journey, and told a little more of his story—intricate in a way only dreamthings could be. And yet, it was real.
It was Ronan.
Ronan, whose breath caught at every tentative press of Adam’s lips against his skin, whose fingers twisted in the fabric of the pillow at every stroke of Adam’s fingers.
Adam’s head spun as he kissed along Ronan’s spine, making sure every inch of his skin received the attention it deserved, until every drop of ink was worshipped. Ronan intertwined their fingers, still holding Adam’s hand to his lips and sighed heavily. His breath came in shallow exhales and shaky inhales under Adam’s touch.
Adam was entranced by the way Ronan’s muscles flexed beneath his lips.
“Is this—Is this okay?” he asked, kissing up again, over the Rose Glen, over the feather of a raven, just where Ronan’s neck met his shoulder. The brush of Adam’s lips in the sensitive spot made him shudder and he couldn’t hold back any longer. He needed to kiss Ronan until they both ran out of breath.
“Y–Yes…” Ronan managed, his voice barely audible as a soft whine escaped his throat.
Adam wanted everything. He wanted to savour the delicious sounds Ronan made under his ministrations. He wanted to taste every whimper.
“Come here,” Adam breathed, turning them over so that Ronan lay on top of his chest. He looked dazed; his pupils blown so wide his eyes were nearly black. Faint blush covered his pale cheeks, softening his features. His lips were parted, swollen, ready to be devoured once again.
“Fuck,” Ronan breathed, collapsing on top of Adam and burying his face in the crook of Adam’s neck. He took a deep, shaky breath, wrapping his arms around Ronan’s form, as tight as he could.
“I’m here,” Adam whispered, kissing his temple.
“Stay, please ,” Ronan asked, and it sounded desperate. He never said ‘please’, he never begged. It felt like he was gifted Ronan’s vulnerability, given to do with it as he pleased. And all he wanted to do was to protect it. Forever , if Ronan let him. “I don’t want to dream alone,” he added and hid his face. Adam shivered, holding him to his chest, feeling every frantic beat of his heart against his..
“I’m here,” he repeated. “I’m not going anywhere, Ronan.”