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Ronan takes Adam by the wrists, his chest is hurt by want and the fear of rejections, but Adam lets Ronan draw him closer. His right hand cups Adam’s face, wonder in his eyes and drumming in his chest, that he is allowed. His eyes flutter to Adam’s thin lips, then he looks back into Adam’s eyes. His thumb sweeps over Adam’s cheekbone, the skin soft under the pad of his finger, and it’s Adam’s skin, and Ronan’s has to check that he’s not dreaming. But everything is real and sharp at the same time unlike in dreams, and his hand wanders down into Adam’s hair, touching his scalp, plowing four rows into it again and again. He is allowed to touch. He is allowed to be this close to Adam, and Ronan feels drunk on him already. He feels Adam placing a hand on his chest, and the other one on his side. He needs to remember how to breathe. Adam’s lips are so close, but he does not move, he just looks and wants. It feels like dreaming up something.
Adam takes a deep breath as Ronan tugs him closer, trying to believe that what is happening is real, that Ronan touches his face, stroking his skin with his thumb, that Ronan is as careful with him as if he was a china doll, and in some ways, he is. He is filled with wonder at the thought, the knowledge that he is really wanted. That Ronan does not move his hand from Adam’s neck, that Ronan’s hand is in his hair, and it comes back to it, again and again. He needs more proof that it’s real, so he presses his right hand to Ronan’s firm chest, and curls his other hand around him, in a way that he can tug the other boy a little more closer, to feel his warmth. His heart wants to fly out of his chest as Ronan looks at his lips; he looks at Adam as if Adam was the only light in the darkest of nights, a little flame that could destroy him with a touch, a little flame that means life in nothingness, and Adam still cannot comprehend how could Ronan see him like that. He turns his head a little to the side.
Their lips meet.