[Noah matches the movement, grinding down and forward, wishing just that gesture could push the anxieties from Ronan's mind. His hand pulls back around, sliding low and warm on Ronan's stomach.]
You're no one's second choice, [ he says, his voice low and steady, ] and you're amazing at this, for the record. There's nothing I'd rather be doing right now.
[No one, either, he adds, playfully canting his hips forward again.]
Edited (just noticed that rogue mystery word) 2017-05-15 16:01 (UTC)
[Ronan sucks in a sharp breath as Noah moves, needy fingers gripping at Noah's thighs.]
I think "amazing" might be an overstatement.
[He suspects Noah might be mistaking a good body for sexual prowess. Ronan's clumsy and he doesn't know what to do with himself. Most boys have at least watched porn. Adam's probably done far more than that. He needs to stop thinking about Adam. It isn't right to be thinking about Adam while Noah's touching him.
Ronan picks his head up so that he can look down at Noah's face. This is his boyfriend and he loves his boyfriend. It should be that simple. Yet Ronan's gaze fixes on Noah's mouth and he can't help wondering: Did he kiss you?]
[No, Noah answers. He didn't. He doesn't add that he's pretty sure Adam hasn't kissed anyone, not unless it's buried deep in his subconscious. That's not his to tell, and Ronan doesn't seem to dislike the notion of Adam as an experienced, confident lover. Jealousy and excitement and lust are all mixed up in his head, and Noah wishes he could reach in and untangle them like a cord.
Not for the first time, he has to wonder if he was right to prod at this monster.]
You think I have that much to compare it to?
[He leans in to rest his face against Ronan's shoulder; his cheeks are red, and his eyes are dark and wide.]
[Low standards are standards he can meet. And really, he would rather figure all of this out with someone who won't find him prudish or boring or just plain terrible at this.
With Noah hiding from him, Ronan reaches up to brush fingers through his soft hair. They're alright. Ronan's thoughts are a mess as always, but this isn't going to cause another rift between them. With Noah's legs still hugging him about the waist, Ronan lies them both down again. His other hand slides up Noah's thigh, fingers hooking in the waistband of his boxers.]
[Noah keens, soft and pleading, and nods against Ronan's neck.
With all they've done, all they've been through, it's sometimes too easy to forget - they're just boys. They're teenage messes of hormones and junk food and inexperience, and they aren't supposed to be good at this. Noah's only advantage is a knack for sneaking into people's thoughts, for knowing what they want before they do. In every other way, though, he's just as lost.]
[Ronan always tries to avoid fantasizing, even about his own boyfriend. He's too aware that his thoughts can shape reality, and beyond religious concerns, it has always felt wrong to project lust onto another person by imagining their body or what he might like to do to them. But sometimes these thoughts escape anyway, and right now he can't help but imagine making love to Noah. But for a few thin layers of cloth, they could be doing it right now. The full length of him throbs between Noah's legs, neglected as always, nudging against Noah's own erection. They both want so much.
Drawing back just enough to maneuver Noah's legs, Ronan continues tugging at his boxers with a nervous, trembling hand. He knows that Noah has wanted this for a while, but he didn't understand just how much. Maybe it was naive of him to think he was doing enough. What good is a chaste lover?
Gaining momentum, Ronan peels Noah's boxers past his hips. He avoids looking just yet, focused on drawing Noah's legs up, slipping one out and then the other, until he's free of those boxers and totally bare.
Only then does Ronan look at him. He's always found Noah to be delicately beautiful, but there is a new quality to that beauty when Ronan looks at him without any obscuration. No part of him is hidden now, and Ronan's throat emits a weak noise of desire as he settles Noah's thighs back at his hips.]
I love you.
[He says it as if it pains him, because it does. There's so much he wants to do to Noah, and so much he has to deny himself.]
[Noah's breath is ragged in his throat, panting hoarsely from the second Ronan starts to pull down his boxers. He can feel the lust and need behind Ronan's touch, thoughts and words and images. He sees what Ronan is picturing, and he can feel him hot and hard and so desperately conflicted, and it's all he can do not to reach for the band of those sweatpants.
As soon as the damp cotton slides over his feet, Noah is scrabbling for contact, pulling Ronan down as close to him as possible.]
I love you too. [He mouths it against Ronan's neck, hitching his hips hard and tight, but he's mindful of the complicated emotions behind his boyfriend's endearment.
It's okay, he thinks back. I don't want anything you aren't comfortable giving.]
[It's not okay. Noah has to understand that Ronan loves him and treasures him. It's not enough that the emotion is written on his heart, a truth that Noah can always read. Love is a constant expression.
There's a lot I want to give.
It isn't fast, the way Ronan handles him. Stripping Noah down was his boldest move. Now his hands are slow and careful, sliding up Noah's thighs and his bare hips, running along his sides and back down again.]
Tell me to stop if it's too much.
[But it's only his hands. Only his lips. Ronan kisses a line down the crook of Noah's neck while a hand drifts over Noah's ribs, over his hollow abdomen, down to his erection. He palms it gently, this tantalizing and unfamiliar thing - Ronan rarely touches himself, let alone others - and strokes it as if he's exploring it rather than intentionally pleasuring Noah.]
Okay, [Noah manages, but it comes out as more of an emotion than a word. The first touch sends a shudder down his spine, through his hips, and he chases it upwards, pressing into Ronan's hand.
It's been almost a decade since he was touched like this by anyone's hand but his own, and it's even better than he had remembered. Last time, it wasn't Ronan's hand gripping him softly, or his fingers getting to know the lay of his skin. Last time, he couldn't reach out with his mind like this, seeking intimacy in more ways than one.
Show me, he thinks back, his thoughts sounding just as strained. Show me what you'd give me if you could. He presses his mind forward, just the same as his hips, both seeking out touch.]
[Ronan's face flushes with shame. He's gone his whole life repressing thoughts like these, so being asked to summon them up intentionally is a more difficult task than it might be for most boys. Ronan contains overwhelming lust, but his mind is an innocent one.
The scenario he imagines is a wish more than a plan. He thinks of what it could be like to press himself into Noah, their bodies locking together and the warmth of Noah surrounding him. He would be so gentle with Noah, because for all his insistence to the contrary, Noah feels fragile and breakable in Ronan's hands. They would make love slow but deep, and though Ronan imagines the pleasure would be greater than anything his body's every known, what he wants more than anything is to feel like a part of Noah. He wants to be so close they feel inseparable, Ronan experiencing the undeniable physicality of Noah and losing himself there.
It's a dream, for now. In reality, Ronan's body sways and he strokes Noah with intention, now. He's far less concerned with his own pleasure than with Noah's, devoted to the task of showing Noah the love he feels, however inadequate.]
[Noah's breathing hitches, and he lets out a high moan, yearning and open-mouthed. One hand lifts to Ronan's head, fingers brushing through the soft hair.
It's not shameful. It's beautiful. And Noah wants it more than anything, wants it like air, but he keeps that locked in his head. It would be too much pressure on Ronan. Instead, he grounds himself in the moment, focusing on Ronan's hand, on his hair, on the sound of his breath. This is all real, and he can barely believe the love radiating out of this simple act. If it feels inadequate to Ronan, then Noah could not disagree more.]
[Noah's thoughts are a comfort, though not enough to undo seventeen years of self-denial. Ronan has had a very, very long time to hate himself and his desires. The act of lovemaking should be beautiful, but the guilt of wanting it follows him anytime he gets close to a boy.
That doesn't meant he intends to stop. He scatters kisses over Noah's lips and across his jaw, hot and adoring. Noah is the sweetest lover he could hope for, and Ronan's endlessly grateful for his patience and encouragement. He might be terrified if it was anyone else. He still can't forget Kavinsky's sharp, mocking laughter, and that was only after a kiss. Noah, on the other hand, doesn't mind Ronan's fumbling reluctance, and that makes this so much easier. He continues to work Noah with his hand, building him up, faster and faster. Somehow it makes him feel powerful instead of filthy.]
[Noah squeezes his legs tighter around Ronan's hips, somehow triyng to pull him closer, needing him everywhere. He grips and kneads, pressing little fingernail half-moons into Ronan's neck, shoulders, back.
don't stop don't stop please please don't stop please god
It's a purely psychic litany - his mouth is occupied with an escalating chorus of groans and curses. One thing Noah cannot do is keep quiet during sex, it seems.
Yet, for all of his noise, all of his energy and dramatics during the act itself, Noah comes with a gentle shudder and a soft, easy sigh. The world goes quiet, peaceful, early-morning-bright, and he clings to Ronan like he's everything he's ever needed.]
[No one's ever been so desperate for Ronan's touch. Of course he obeys, lovingly and indulgently, spreading hot kisses over Noah's skin between gasps for air. His mouth closes in on the sensitive spot on Noah's neck, right below his ear.
That's when something hitches and Ronan becomes aware of the warmth spilling over onto his fingers and smearing between their bodies. Ronan's free hand slips under Noah's body, embracing him and pressing him close while Ronan works the last few shudders of orgasm out of him. He seeks out Noah's lips to kiss him again, softer this time, and finally releases him. Ronan's wet hand splays itself on Noah's stomach and he thinks about bowing down, tasting him. Then he admonishes himself for being perverse.]
[Noah closes his eyes, breathing soft and slow with his limbs all still wrapped around Ronan. He's safe, sated, warm - sex was always fun in high school, but it was never like this. It never made him feel comforted to his very core. He tries to press this sentiment into Ronan's mind, drowsy with utter pleasure and gratitude.
God, it would be so hot if you did that, though, he comments, in regards to Ronan's brief thought.]
[Would it? He doesn't need more convincing than that. Ronan presses a few more slow kisses to Noah's lips before he moves, climbing down Noah's body. He traces a trail with his mouth as he goes, leaving a line of kisses over Noah's collar bone and down his chest.
When Ronan's lips meet sticky moisture, he slips his tongue out for a taste. Salty, but also a bit sweet, and a bit of something else that tingles on his taste buds. It is and isn't what he expected. He drags his tongue over Noah's abdomen, savoring it, and leaves a wet kiss there.]
I love the way you taste.
[He probably doesn't need to say it out loud, but he does anyway, without taking his lips off Noah's skin.]
[Ronan smiles and picks up his chin, directing a coy glance at Noah. Then he draws himself up and flops onto his side, his long body draping next to Noah's. He can't quite fit, bent at the knees.]
[Coming from Noah, curses have still always sounded like a borrowed habit. But next to his forward actions, next to the messy tilt of his hair and the live spark in his eyes, it's clear that the only person they're borrowed from is his former self, alive and reckless and roguish.
He presses a kiss to Ronan's shoulder, and one of his hands drifts down to brush against him through the rough fabric.]
[It's not bullshit. Before Noah, there was only Kavinsky. And Ronan still isn't sure whether Kavinsky ever wanted him or if he simply represented something. Some obstacle to overcome. Kavinsky never made him feel desirable, only usable. Ronan has been functional in the absence of other entertainment. That's all.
He could muse further on his gratitude for Noah, but the touch distracts him. Ronan's hips jerk in reflex and he ruts up against Noah's hand, exhaling a shaky breath. This is good. Ronan doesn't want to demand Noah's attention, but he wants it if Noah will give it to him.]
[You already have it, Noah answers. Ronan doesn't have to demand anything. It's been his for as long as they've known each other. All of it.
Quiet as a breath, he slips his hand past Ronan's waistband, and grips him skin-to-skin for the first time. His movements carry no urgent lust, not the way his eyes do. Instead, the gesture is slow and soft. He tucks his head closer against Ronan's neck, under his chin, like they're in a particularly intimate dance.]
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You're no one's second choice, [ he says, his voice low and steady, ] and you're amazing at this, for the record. There's nothing I'd rather be doing right now.
[No one, either, he adds, playfully canting his hips forward again.]
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I think "amazing" might be an overstatement.
[He suspects Noah might be mistaking a good body for sexual prowess. Ronan's clumsy and he doesn't know what to do with himself. Most boys have at least watched porn. Adam's probably done far more than that. He needs to stop thinking about Adam. It isn't right to be thinking about Adam while Noah's touching him.
Ronan picks his head up so that he can look down at Noah's face. This is his boyfriend and he loves his boyfriend. It should be that simple. Yet Ronan's gaze fixes on Noah's mouth and he can't help wondering: Did he kiss you?]
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Not for the first time, he has to wonder if he was right to prod at this monster.]
You think I have that much to compare it to?
[He leans in to rest his face against Ronan's shoulder; his cheeks are red, and his eyes are dark and wide.]
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[Low standards are standards he can meet. And really, he would rather figure all of this out with someone who won't find him prudish or boring or just plain terrible at this.
With Noah hiding from him, Ronan reaches up to brush fingers through his soft hair. They're alright. Ronan's thoughts are a mess as always, but this isn't going to cause another rift between them. With Noah's legs still hugging him about the waist, Ronan lies them both down again. His other hand slides up Noah's thigh, fingers hooking in the waistband of his boxers.]
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With all they've done, all they've been through, it's sometimes too easy to forget - they're just boys. They're teenage messes of hormones and junk food and inexperience, and they aren't supposed to be good at this. Noah's only advantage is a knack for sneaking into people's thoughts, for knowing what they want before they do. In every other way, though, he's just as lost.]
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Drawing back just enough to maneuver Noah's legs, Ronan continues tugging at his boxers with a nervous, trembling hand. He knows that Noah has wanted this for a while, but he didn't understand just how much. Maybe it was naive of him to think he was doing enough. What good is a chaste lover?
Gaining momentum, Ronan peels Noah's boxers past his hips. He avoids looking just yet, focused on drawing Noah's legs up, slipping one out and then the other, until he's free of those boxers and totally bare.
Only then does Ronan look at him. He's always found Noah to be delicately beautiful, but there is a new quality to that beauty when Ronan looks at him without any obscuration. No part of him is hidden now, and Ronan's throat emits a weak noise of desire as he settles Noah's thighs back at his hips.]
I love you.
[He says it as if it pains him, because it does. There's so much he wants to do to Noah, and so much he has to deny himself.]
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As soon as the damp cotton slides over his feet, Noah is scrabbling for contact, pulling Ronan down as close to him as possible.]
I love you too. [He mouths it against Ronan's neck, hitching his hips hard and tight, but he's mindful of the complicated emotions behind his boyfriend's endearment.
It's okay, he thinks back. I don't want anything you aren't comfortable giving.]
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There's a lot I want to give.
It isn't fast, the way Ronan handles him. Stripping Noah down was his boldest move. Now his hands are slow and careful, sliding up Noah's thighs and his bare hips, running along his sides and back down again.]
Tell me to stop if it's too much.
[But it's only his hands. Only his lips. Ronan kisses a line down the crook of Noah's neck while a hand drifts over Noah's ribs, over his hollow abdomen, down to his erection. He palms it gently, this tantalizing and unfamiliar thing - Ronan rarely touches himself, let alone others - and strokes it as if he's exploring it rather than intentionally pleasuring Noah.]
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It's been almost a decade since he was touched like this by anyone's hand but his own, and it's even better than he had remembered. Last time, it wasn't Ronan's hand gripping him softly, or his fingers getting to know the lay of his skin. Last time, he couldn't reach out with his mind like this, seeking intimacy in more ways than one.
Show me, he thinks back, his thoughts sounding just as strained. Show me what you'd give me if you could. He presses his mind forward, just the same as his hips, both seeking out touch.]
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The scenario he imagines is a wish more than a plan. He thinks of what it could be like to press himself into Noah, their bodies locking together and the warmth of Noah surrounding him. He would be so gentle with Noah, because for all his insistence to the contrary, Noah feels fragile and breakable in Ronan's hands. They would make love slow but deep, and though Ronan imagines the pleasure would be greater than anything his body's every known, what he wants more than anything is to feel like a part of Noah. He wants to be so close they feel inseparable, Ronan experiencing the undeniable physicality of Noah and losing himself there.
It's a dream, for now. In reality, Ronan's body sways and he strokes Noah with intention, now. He's far less concerned with his own pleasure than with Noah's, devoted to the task of showing Noah the love he feels, however inadequate.]
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It's not shameful. It's beautiful. And Noah wants it more than anything, wants it like air, but he keeps that locked in his head. It would be too much pressure on Ronan. Instead, he grounds himself in the moment, focusing on Ronan's hand, on his hair, on the sound of his breath. This is all real, and he can barely believe the love radiating out of this simple act. If it feels inadequate to Ronan, then Noah could not disagree more.]
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That doesn't meant he intends to stop. He scatters kisses over Noah's lips and across his jaw, hot and adoring. Noah is the sweetest lover he could hope for, and Ronan's endlessly grateful for his patience and encouragement. He might be terrified if it was anyone else. He still can't forget Kavinsky's sharp, mocking laughter, and that was only after a kiss. Noah, on the other hand, doesn't mind Ronan's fumbling reluctance, and that makes this so much easier. He continues to work Noah with his hand, building him up, faster and faster. Somehow it makes him feel powerful instead of filthy.]
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don't stop don't stop please please don't stop please god
It's a purely psychic litany - his mouth is occupied with an escalating chorus of groans and curses. One thing Noah cannot do is keep quiet during sex, it seems.
Yet, for all of his noise, all of his energy and dramatics during the act itself, Noah comes with a gentle shudder and a soft, easy sigh. The world goes quiet, peaceful, early-morning-bright, and he clings to Ronan like he's everything he's ever needed.]
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That's when something hitches and Ronan becomes aware of the warmth spilling over onto his fingers and smearing between their bodies. Ronan's free hand slips under Noah's body, embracing him and pressing him close while Ronan works the last few shudders of orgasm out of him. He seeks out Noah's lips to kiss him again, softer this time, and finally releases him. Ronan's wet hand splays itself on Noah's stomach and he thinks about bowing down, tasting him. Then he admonishes himself for being perverse.]
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God, it would be so hot if you did that, though, he comments, in regards to Ronan's brief thought.]
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When Ronan's lips meet sticky moisture, he slips his tongue out for a taste. Salty, but also a bit sweet, and a bit of something else that tingles on his taste buds. It is and isn't what he expected. He drags his tongue over Noah's abdomen, savoring it, and leaves a wet kiss there.]
I love the way you taste.
[He probably doesn't need to say it out loud, but he does anyway, without taking his lips off Noah's skin.]
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Mm. Well. [He reaches down to play with the still-short-but-growing tips of his hair.] Maybe you can get seconds sometime.
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You're too good to me.
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You're the one who just gave me a handjob, and I'm too good?
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[Which is very generous, as far as Ronan's concerned.]
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[Noahs voice is drowsy and muffled, but he slowly wedges one knee between Ronan's legs, easing it up to nudge gently against him.]
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Believe it or not, there aren't a lot of people out there who'd want me to touch them.
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[Coming from Noah, curses have still always sounded like a borrowed habit. But next to his forward actions, next to the messy tilt of his hair and the live spark in his eyes, it's clear that the only person they're borrowed from is his former self, alive and reckless and roguish.
He presses a kiss to Ronan's shoulder, and one of his hands drifts down to brush against him through the rough fabric.]
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He could muse further on his gratitude for Noah, but the touch distracts him. Ronan's hips jerk in reflex and he ruts up against Noah's hand, exhaling a shaky breath. This is good. Ronan doesn't want to demand Noah's attention, but he wants it if Noah will give it to him.]
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Quiet as a breath, he slips his hand past Ronan's waistband, and grips him skin-to-skin for the first time. His movements carry no urgent lust, not the way his eyes do. Instead, the gesture is slow and soft. He tucks his head closer against Ronan's neck, under his chin, like they're in a particularly intimate dance.]
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