[Ronan is still coming off the last pill he took, obvious from the way that he's lolling on the grass like someone fileted his bones out with a deftly-wielded knife. Still, Kavinski holds out the latest. It's pink. Like, cotton candy, dye-for-strawberry, Pepto-Bismol pink, high-gloss and shaped like an egg. Kavinski balances it on his skinny forefinger with long-practiced ease. Long, long practice.
He's looking at Ronan's mouth with the creepy weird fixedness that means he'd like to feed it to the other boy a different way, but it's an idea right now. In development. But a really good one, if you were to ask him.]
[ whatever kavinsky had given him last, it separated him from his body, and he's only now returning to it. he can move his fingers again. his toes flex inside his combat boots. he can feel every individual blade of grass that brushes his skin wherever it peeks between his clothes.
he registers the pill balanced on kavinsky's finger before the question (that's not really a question) catches up with him. his eyes slide from the pill to kavinsky's face, to that look, the one he's become all too familiar with lately. the one he doesn't know what to do with. ]
Shit, man. I don't know.
[ with some difficulty, he pushes himself into a sitting position. he leans on one arm and reaches for the pill with the other. as he takes it, his fingers graze kavinsky's and his nerve-endings crackle like a firework. he rolls the pill in his palm, groping beside him for his half-finished beer to wash it down with. ]
Are you gonna tell me what it does, or do I have to find out the hard way?
[Kavinski's grin is serrated. He has good teeth; mom bought them for him at some point, probably, and the kinds of substances he likes to abuse don't tend to fuck them up.
With the possibly exception of Ronan himself.]
You don't even remember what the last one did, [he says. It's neither a question nor a real challenge; it's a statement of fact, completely unconcerned, except that his eyes are still decidedly hollow and hungry in that weird way that suggests
well, a lot of things. Mostly that he's up to something fucked up. Kavinsky sits back on his heels. There is half of a dandelion clock sticking out of his head.] It makes things bigger, baby. [His smile widens. Nothing that bright should be that dirty, but there you go. He thieves the stray beer off the grass and passes it to him, knuckles grazing Ronan's palm.] So don't dream anything you wouldn't wanna drown in.
Ronan wakes up gasping, but it’s too late for surprise: he knows what he dreamed. Conviction nailguns his stomach to his throat. He falls out of bed.
Kavinsky is on the floor.
He’s covered in blue. White skin shows rubbery, cyanotic where the slime thins. Cabeswater had vomited the other boy out on him, not the gift -and-giving of Pig, or the violent thefts before. Cabeswater hadn’t wanted Kavinsky.
Ronan scrapes the membrane off Kavinsky’s blind face, and feels the first breath whistle wetly through his fingers. “You couldn’tve made me better, stronger, faster,” Kavinsky croaks; he doesn’t sound surprised.
Ronan looks scared and frustrated and angry, which is newish, but familiar.
Kavinsky personally doesn’t feel much, which is normal for him. No feeling except for the physical, Ronan’s chest drumming his shoulder hotly, hard right arm pinching under his back. When Ronan puts him down, the bathtub squeaks on his ass. Monmouth Manufacturing sounds empty.
His memories are indistinct, unsequenced, vague, but he remembers Ronan screaming from below. “If it’s too much trouble, you could just kill me and bury me out back,” he offers, but Ronan doesn’t smile; gives him a look that’s as raw as a wound.
Edited (grammatical error, boring, no one else noticed (maybe)) 2015-09-13 15:31 (UTC)
It’s not until Kavinsky is eating his sandwich that Ronan recognizes the smell: gasoline. The shower and the sweet-sour mayonnaise smell have cut it now, but Ronan still looks around. No open flames in Monmouth.
Not yet, anyway.
But Kavinsky is different in as many ways as he’s the same. It could be the trauma of rebirth or just… fucking sobriety. He’s fighting Chainsaw over a rind edge of sliced ham. She doesn’t bite him, and his fingers flex short of her eyes.
Abruptly, they both look at him. Dream creatures, one black and one chalk-white, greying in the dawn.
“Maybe,” Blue interrupts, irritation edging into her voice, “we should ask him.”
Gansey stumbles on the combination of female annoyance and All-American Heroism. Noah fades. Adam hasn’t spoken since Ronan yanked Kavinsky to sit against to him instead of wandering every three minutes. Kavinsky went still; Adam became a salt pillar.
“Right.” Gansey clears his throat. He’s—bad with death. “How’re you—psychologically.”
“No kidnapping, suicide, or dragon plans.” Kavinsky’s smile stretches like taffy.
Gansey nods. “Can you still steal dreams?”
“Ehh. Haven’t slept, but I doubt Lynch could picture me without.”
Borrowing the BMW is easy—everyone’s exhausted. It’s a ninety minutes to Ohio, going ten over.
Ronan shows up in an hour.
He cleaves through the nightclub like a tiger, shirt skewed, one cut-ice hipbone exposed, the hauteur of his buzzed profile lambent by throbbing blacklights. Kavinsky has two seconds to wonder if Ronan could’ve found him on gut alone, before Ronan’s on him, snarling—
But he falters when Kavinsky pulls him in, matches groin to groin, mouth to throat. Sets the rhythm, hips rolling and shoving against the bass-line. Ronan doesn’t fucking dream anything meant for cages.
Eventually, they spill back outside the nightclub. Ronan’s throat and palms tingle from contact, but he keeps hold of Kavinsky in case of unscheduled disaster. He hates being socially responsible cop; he belongs in the fucking lineup. Downward comparisons with Gansey do not apply here.
“Hey, fags!” Two frat guys stumble up; one throws beer at him.
Ronan beats the shit out of them. A bloody nose is enough to scare one guy off. The other one lasts a couple uppercuts, splits Ronan’s lip. Afterward, Kavinsky gives him a cigarette. Like the rest of this strange night, it hurts well.
six
Apparently the whole fucking band came to Athens, searching. The motel room is theirs for thirty minutes max.
Ronan lies beside him, texting.
Kavinsky wonders if Ronan knows how easy it would be. He'd barely have to touch him; one finger on his hip, and Kavinsky would open up his mouth and his legs for him; there's a lot you can do in half an hour. But he won't. Maybe that's what he liked about Ronan. Sordid Catholic rage bullshit aside, he's a good guy. Before, the thrill was to wreck that.
Now, this is enough. Kavinsky's heart drums, fast.
[ adam leans back in the passenger seat of the bmw, eyes lazily half-shut as he watches the virginia countryside pass by out the window. ronan had wanted to go on a drive -- nowhere in particular, just drive -- and adam had finished his homework, didn't have any shifts at the garage or the factory, and cabeswater was silent, so he'd said okay. he knew it was just an excuse for them to spend time together away from gansey and blue and noah anyway, and he didn't mind. they'd barely had two seconds alone together for the past week, it was good to get away from the rest of the group for an hour or two. it wasn't like they couldn't hold hands in front of them, they just... didn't. it was easier that way. touching ronan, even in as innocent a way as holding hands, usually turned adam into a wreck within a few minutes, so it was probably for the best.
their hands are clasped between them as ronan drives, and it strikes adam all of a sudden just how normal this feels, how easily he's gotten used to this. the thought makes him slightly uncomfortable -- he's not convinced he'll get to keep ronan, and what will he do without him if he's gotten so dependent on having him around? -- but adam just squeezes ronan's hand gently, brushing his thumb over ronan's knuckles and looking over at him.
ronan's happier lately. adam would like to believe it's because of him, but that feels like giving himself too much credit. he's not sure why else ronan would be happy, though.
impulsively, adam shifts around in his seat so he can lean over and kiss ronan, right where his jaw meets his neck. he can't stop running his thumb over ronan's knuckles, feeling his skin, and it's ridiculous, it's so teenaged boy, but he's getting a little hot. there's no reason to it, no catalyst, he was fine a second ago and now he's not, but that happens a lot to adam where ronan's concerned. he's just ready for it all the time, can hardly get himself under control, and yeah, maybe a running car's a bad place to lose control of himself, but it was one kiss. it won't hurt. ]
[ it's been driving ronan crazy, not having any time alone with adam. one of the few drawbacks to dating adam parrish is that he's stupidly busy because he stupidly won't let anyone help him with anything, so he runs himself ragged to make ends meet. he was barely holding it together before the bargain with cabeswater, and now he has the arbitrary needs of a sentient forest to contend with on top of everything else. of course, ronan knew all of this about him before they started dating, and it didn't make him want to be with adam any less. it just means he worries more about how much sleep adam is getting and he finds little, wordless ways to help him that are small enough adam doesn't make a fuss. if he does make a fuss, typically ronan can kiss him to shut him up.
it makes sense that, when they finally have an opportunity to spend time together, ronan takes them for a drive. like adam living at st. agnes focuses the objects of ronan's worship into one downtown block, adam in ronan's bmw focuses the objects of ronan's desire into one machine. cars have always been sexy to ronan, second only now to adam, and there's something incredibly, yet undeniably attractive about having adam in the passenger seat, their hands tangled over the gearshift.
when adam leans over and kisses him, his pulse trips, and for a moment he forgets to press on the gas pedal. the car loses momentum for a split-second before he steps on it again. keeping one eye on the road, he turns his head until their lips meet, because he can't help himself. the kiss is short but sweet, and ronan's heart beats like he'd just run a mile.
as he faces the road again, his mouth hooks up at the corners. ] What's gotten into you?
[ the car slows down for a second, and adam's stomach swoops. he did that, he did that, just by pressing slightly chapped lips to ronan's neck. ronan turns to kiss him properly before adam can repeat the gesture and make ronan lose control of the car again, but he already has plans for how to make it happen again. when ronan turns back to the road, adam smiles, moving even closer to ronan. his seatbelt is digging into his side, but he's not going to take it off.
yet. ]
Nothing. [ adam pauses, reconsiders. ] Nothing bad. Pay attention the road.
[ with that, he kisses ronan's neck again, this time going for his pulse point. it's an awkward stretch, and it kind of hurts, but ronan's reaction will be worth it. that's all adam can think about as he bites at ronan's skin, just the right side of painful. ]
[ of all the things cabeswater has sprung on them in the past -- the colour-changing fish, the herd of stampeding deer, the spontaneous cave -- this has got to be the weirdest, and with cabeswater, that's saying a lot. it's a magic sentient forest, so you'd think it couldn't get much weirder. you'd be wrong.
adam had convinced ronan to come with him to do some maintenance on the ley line (well, it didn't really take much convincing. he'd asked if ronan wanted to come and he'd said yes), and his scrying took them into the forest. that wasn't that unusual, there were often rocks blocking streams or other such things that cabeswater needed taken care of within its own boundaries, but what was unusual was the snow that covered everything the second they stepped into the forest. it was cold in henrietta, being that it was the start of december, but it wasn't snowing. inside cabeswater, there was at least two inches of snow covering the ground. despite this, it wasn't unbearably cold, so they pressed on, searching for the source of the forest's blockage.
they hadn't been in the forest for even ten minutes when adam was pulled to a sudden halt, causing ronan to run into his back. when he looked to see what was holding him back, there were roots winding around his ankles, holding him tight. as soon as ronan stopped, he was captured similarly. there was just enough give in the roots for adam to turn around to face ronan, looking for any cause, but it was only when he looked up that he realized what was going on.
mistletoe was dangling from a tree above their heads. cabeswater was trying to matchmake them. the magic, sentient forest adam had dedicated his life to was trying to set them up.
now all adam can do is stare at a spot vaguely over ronan's shoulder, trying to ignore the heat he can feel in his own cheeks. ]
Maybe if we ignore it it'll just... give up and let us go.
[ it had all seemed so routine, to the extent that anything could be routine when it came to cabeswater, they should've known something fucking weird was bound to happen. but there's weird, and then there's sabotage and betrayal, which better describe the sting ronan feels once the situation fully sinks in. out of all the shit cabeswater has put them through, it's never turned on him this badly before.
he strings together a few creative expletives that include "jesus fucking christ" and "you have got to be shitting me."
while adam stares over his shoulder, ronan is looking everywhere but at adam—until adam opens his mouth. after that, ronan gives him a look that is the same one he'd give him if he suggested ronan try making amends with declan, or something equally as unlikely to happen in this lifetime. ] Parrish, that's the stupidest fucking thing you've said in a while.
[ it's almost matter-of-fact. they both know it's not going to work. ignoring cabeswater has never been the answer to anything. in fact, it usually makes things worse. ronan tugs on his shackles but they only tighten the more he struggles. it's only when he almost falls over and has to catch himself with a hand on adam's shoulder that he stops trying to free himself.
once he's regained his balance, he pulls his hand back faster than if adam were a hot stove. where before his face was just a little warm, now it's on fire and he can only imagine how he must look. his heartbeat is in his stomach as well as his chest and he has no idea what to do with his hands, but eventually he shoves one into his pocket while the other comes up to his mouth. as he pulls on one of his leather bands with his teeth, he's pointedly avoiding adam's gaze again. if he looks at adam, he'll probably look at his mouth and afterwards pray to god to strike him down on the spot. ]
Well I don't see you coming up with anything, [ adam grouses, crossing his arms and frowning at a tree over ronan's shoulder. he's trying not to even see ronan, just ignore that he's there altogether, but that gets hard when ronan tilts dangerously forward and has to steady himself on adam's shoulder. without even thinking about it, adam uncrosses his arms, one hand going to touch ronan's on his shoulder and the other stabilizing him with a grip on his forearm. a moment later ronan pulls away, cheeks furiously red, and adam has to admit to himself the reason he was avoiding focusing on ronan's face:
now that he's looked at him, properly looked at him for the first time since he realized what cabeswater wants from them, he can't stop staring at ronan's lips. he's trying to look somewhere else -- anywhere else, seriously -- but his eyes keep being drawn back to ronan's mouth. prior to this, adam had never really given any consideration to ronan's lips -- they were lips, like anyone else had, and he could see that ronan was attractive cumulatively, so he didn't feel the need to isolate each part of his face for its individual attractiveness. now all adam can focus on is the small bow of his upper lip and the plushness of the lower one. they look soft -- ronan doesn't have any trouble with chapped skin in the winter, adam's brain supplies inanely -- and adam can't help but wonder what it would be like to kiss him. he hasn't wondered anything so fervently since he wondered what it would be like to kiss blue.
with great effort, adam drags his gaze away from ronan's mouth, looking at the ground off to the side of them, his cheeks flaming. blushes aren't as obvious on adam as they are on ronan, since he's more tan, but he feels like this one must be visible from space. ]
Let's just wait and see what happens. It might let us go. It's never done anything like this before.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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If you don't respond to me, I'm going to do something.
Tell Gansey, probably.
Are you alive?
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not.
one.
if i were dead in a ditch right now it would be your fault, asshole.
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And besides that they are all blank!
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how do you know it wasn't a distress signal?
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1/2
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hate phone tagging so much omg
and it hates you apparently
cries about it
there there
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action; (potential nsfw)
[Ronan is still coming off the last pill he took, obvious from the way that he's lolling on the grass like someone fileted his bones out with a deftly-wielded knife. Still, Kavinski holds out the latest. It's pink. Like, cotton candy, dye-for-strawberry, Pepto-Bismol pink, high-gloss and shaped like an egg. Kavinski balances it on his skinny forefinger with long-practiced ease. Long, long practice.
He's looking at Ronan's mouth with the creepy weird fixedness that means he'd like to feed it to the other boy a different way, but it's an idea right now. In development. But a really good one, if you were to ask him.]
Man up, butt boy.
yesssssss
he registers the pill balanced on kavinsky's finger before the question (that's not really a question) catches up with him. his eyes slide from the pill to kavinsky's face, to that look, the one he's become all too familiar with lately. the one he doesn't know what to do with. ]
Shit, man. I don't know.
[ with some difficulty, he pushes himself into a sitting position. he leans on one arm and reaches for the pill with the other. as he takes it, his fingers graze kavinsky's and his nerve-endings crackle like a firework. he rolls the pill in his palm, groping beside him for his half-finished beer to wash it down with. ]
Are you gonna tell me what it does, or do I have to find out the hard way?
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With the possibly exception of Ronan himself.]
You don't even remember what the last one did, [he says. It's neither a question nor a real challenge; it's a statement of fact, completely unconcerned, except that his eyes are still decidedly hollow and hungry in that weird way that suggests
well, a lot of things. Mostly that he's up to something fucked up. Kavinsky sits back on his heels. There is half of a dandelion clock sticking out of his head.] It makes things bigger, baby. [His smile widens. Nothing that bright should be that dirty, but there you go. He thieves the stray beer off the grass and passes it to him, knuckles grazing Ronan's palm.] So don't dream anything you wouldn't wanna drown in.
random halsey drabble [1/?]
Kavinsky is on the floor.
He’s covered in blue. White skin shows rubbery, cyanotic where the slime thins. Cabeswater had vomited the other boy out on him, not the gift -and-giving of Pig, or the violent thefts before. Cabeswater hadn’t wanted Kavinsky.
Ronan scrapes the membrane off Kavinsky’s blind face, and feels the first breath whistle wetly through his fingers. “You couldn’tve made me better, stronger, faster,” Kavinsky croaks; he doesn’t sound surprised.
[2/?]
Kavinsky personally doesn’t feel much, which is normal for him. No feeling except for the physical, Ronan’s chest drumming his shoulder hotly, hard right arm pinching under his back. When Ronan puts him down, the bathtub squeaks on his ass. Monmouth Manufacturing sounds empty.
His memories are indistinct, unsequenced, vague, but he remembers Ronan screaming from below. “If it’s too much trouble, you could just kill me and bury me out back,” he offers, but Ronan doesn’t smile; gives him a look that’s as raw as a wound.
[3/?]
Not yet, anyway.
But Kavinsky is different in as many ways as he’s the same. It could be the trauma of rebirth or just… fucking sobriety. He’s fighting Chainsaw over a rind edge of sliced ham. She doesn’t bite him, and his fingers flex short of her eyes.
Abruptly, they both look at him. Dream creatures, one black and one chalk-white, greying in the dawn.
[4/?] cuz youre a hero
Gansey stumbles on the combination of female annoyance and All-American Heroism. Noah fades. Adam hasn’t spoken since Ronan yanked Kavinsky to sit against to him instead of wandering every three minutes. Kavinsky went still; Adam became a salt pillar.
“Right.” Gansey clears his throat. He’s—bad with death. “How’re you—psychologically.”
“No kidnapping, suicide, or dragon plans.” Kavinsky’s smile stretches like taffy.
Gansey nods. “Can you still steal dreams?”
“Ehh. Haven’t slept, but I doubt Lynch could picture me without.”
Ronan’s glares at him, furious because it’s true.
[5/?] aaagoodnight
Ronan shows up in an hour.
He cleaves through the nightclub like a tiger, shirt skewed, one cut-ice hipbone exposed, the hauteur of his buzzed profile lambent by throbbing blacklights. Kavinsky has two seconds to wonder if Ronan could’ve found him on gut alone, before Ronan’s on him, snarling—
But he falters when Kavinsky pulls him in, matches groin to groin, mouth to throat. Sets the rhythm, hips rolling and shoving against the bass-line. Ronan doesn’t fucking dream anything meant for cages.
[5 & 6/?]
surprise tfln!!!
gasps. best surprise
he quickly deletes it. ]
i've seen worse. i've done worse. you'll be fine
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People do that with drugs right
Holy shit how do people with ADD live with this stuff
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jk here's the real tag
you nerd
guilty
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you encouraged this; NSFW
[ adam leans back in the passenger seat of the bmw, eyes lazily half-shut as he watches the virginia countryside pass by out the window. ronan had wanted to go on a drive -- nowhere in particular, just drive -- and adam had finished his homework, didn't have any shifts at the garage or the factory, and cabeswater was silent, so he'd said okay. he knew it was just an excuse for them to spend time together away from gansey and blue and noah anyway, and he didn't mind. they'd barely had two seconds alone together for the past week, it was good to get away from the rest of the group for an hour or two. it wasn't like they couldn't hold hands in front of them, they just... didn't. it was easier that way. touching ronan, even in as innocent a way as holding hands, usually turned adam into a wreck within a few minutes, so it was probably for the best.
their hands are clasped between them as ronan drives, and it strikes adam all of a sudden just how normal this feels, how easily he's gotten used to this. the thought makes him slightly uncomfortable -- he's not convinced he'll get to keep ronan, and what will he do without him if he's gotten so dependent on having him around? -- but adam just squeezes ronan's hand gently, brushing his thumb over ronan's knuckles and looking over at him.
ronan's happier lately. adam would like to believe it's because of him, but that feels like giving himself too much credit. he's not sure why else ronan would be happy, though.
impulsively, adam shifts around in his seat so he can lean over and kiss ronan, right where his jaw meets his neck. he can't stop running his thumb over ronan's knuckles, feeling his skin, and it's ridiculous, it's so teenaged boy, but he's getting a little hot. there's no reason to it, no catalyst, he was fine a second ago and now he's not, but that happens a lot to adam where ronan's concerned. he's just ready for it all the time, can hardly get himself under control, and yeah, maybe a running car's a bad place to lose control of himself, but it was one kiss. it won't hurt. ]
i make no apologies
it makes sense that, when they finally have an opportunity to spend time together, ronan takes them for a drive. like adam living at st. agnes focuses the objects of ronan's worship into one downtown block, adam in ronan's bmw focuses the objects of ronan's desire into one machine. cars have always been sexy to ronan, second only now to adam, and there's something incredibly, yet undeniably attractive about having adam in the passenger seat, their hands tangled over the gearshift.
when adam leans over and kisses him, his pulse trips, and for a moment he forgets to press on the gas pedal. the car loses momentum for a split-second before he steps on it again. keeping one eye on the road, he turns his head until their lips meet, because he can't help himself. the kiss is short but sweet, and ronan's heart beats like he'd just run a mile.
as he faces the road again, his mouth hooks up at the corners. ] What's gotten into you?
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yet. ]
Nothing. [ adam pauses, reconsiders. ] Nothing bad. Pay attention the road.
[ with that, he kisses ronan's neck again, this time going for his pulse point. it's an awkward stretch, and it kind of hurts, but ronan's reaction will be worth it. that's all adam can think about as he bites at ronan's skin, just the right side of painful. ]
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adam had convinced ronan to come with him to do some maintenance on the ley line (well, it didn't really take much convincing. he'd asked if ronan wanted to come and he'd said yes), and his scrying took them into the forest. that wasn't that unusual, there were often rocks blocking streams or other such things that cabeswater needed taken care of within its own boundaries, but what was unusual was the snow that covered everything the second they stepped into the forest. it was cold in henrietta, being that it was the start of december, but it wasn't snowing. inside cabeswater, there was at least two inches of snow covering the ground. despite this, it wasn't unbearably cold, so they pressed on, searching for the source of the forest's blockage.
they hadn't been in the forest for even ten minutes when adam was pulled to a sudden halt, causing ronan to run into his back. when he looked to see what was holding him back, there were roots winding around his ankles, holding him tight. as soon as ronan stopped, he was captured similarly. there was just enough give in the roots for adam to turn around to face ronan, looking for any cause, but it was only when he looked up that he realized what was going on.
mistletoe was dangling from a tree above their heads. cabeswater was trying to matchmake them. the magic, sentient forest adam had dedicated his life to was trying to set them up.
now all adam can do is stare at a spot vaguely over ronan's shoulder, trying to ignore the heat he can feel in his own cheeks. ]
Maybe if we ignore it it'll just... give up and let us go.
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he strings together a few creative expletives that include "jesus fucking christ" and "you have got to be shitting me."
while adam stares over his shoulder, ronan is looking everywhere but at adam—until adam opens his mouth. after that, ronan gives him a look that is the same one he'd give him if he suggested ronan try making amends with declan, or something equally as unlikely to happen in this lifetime. ] Parrish, that's the stupidest fucking thing you've said in a while.
[ it's almost matter-of-fact. they both know it's not going to work. ignoring cabeswater has never been the answer to anything. in fact, it usually makes things worse. ronan tugs on his shackles but they only tighten the more he struggles. it's only when he almost falls over and has to catch himself with a hand on adam's shoulder that he stops trying to free himself.
once he's regained his balance, he pulls his hand back faster than if adam were a hot stove. where before his face was just a little warm, now it's on fire and he can only imagine how he must look. his heartbeat is in his stomach as well as his chest and he has no idea what to do with his hands, but eventually he shoves one into his pocket while the other comes up to his mouth. as he pulls on one of his leather bands with his teeth, he's pointedly avoiding adam's gaze again. if he looks at adam, he'll probably look at his mouth and afterwards pray to god to strike him down on the spot. ]
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now that he's looked at him, properly looked at him for the first time since he realized what cabeswater wants from them, he can't stop staring at ronan's lips. he's trying to look somewhere else -- anywhere else, seriously -- but his eyes keep being drawn back to ronan's mouth. prior to this, adam had never really given any consideration to ronan's lips -- they were lips, like anyone else had, and he could see that ronan was attractive cumulatively, so he didn't feel the need to isolate each part of his face for its individual attractiveness. now all adam can focus on is the small bow of his upper lip and the plushness of the lower one. they look soft -- ronan doesn't have any trouble with chapped skin in the winter, adam's brain supplies inanely -- and adam can't help but wonder what it would be like to kiss him. he hasn't wondered anything so fervently since he wondered what it would be like to kiss blue.
with great effort, adam drags his gaze away from ronan's mouth, looking at the ground off to the side of them, his cheeks flaming. blushes aren't as obvious on adam as they are on ronan, since he's more tan, but he feels like this one must be visible from space. ]
Let's just wait and see what happens. It might let us go. It's never done anything like this before.
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