Ronan doesn’t stir as the blanket slides down his body, exposing unclothed skin. His cock is hard, but that’s not unusual for him in the morning. It says nothing regarding how he feels about what did or didn’t transpire in last night’s dream. Nothing about him seems capable of reacting to anything yet.
That’s proven as Declan reaches between his legs. Ronan doesn’t even twitch. The only answer Declan can find is in the evidence, and yes, it’s there. His brother is overflowing with his crime scene, Declan’s semen coating his inner thighs. And higher, if Declan follows the path. It’s fresh enough that Declan might as well have pulled out of him seconds ago, despite their occupying two entirely separate bedrooms.
Even if he knows it's a dream, it feels real enough - possible enough - that Declan worries for a moment that his wildly pounding heart or his shaking breath will give him away. Any moment Ronan will wake and express displeasure.
But he doesn't even stir. God help him.
As Declan sinks down, he pushes Ronan into a more accommodating position on his stomach. His nose brushes the curve of Ronan's ass and his fingers slide between his cheeks again to feel the slick mess of his hole. Jesus, it's like he'd just finished. He plants one hand to keep Ronan spread open and gives in to temptation with a slow, firm swipe of his tongue. He stifles a moan but his hand tightens as he sinks into his task, taking his time to lick and tease and suck. More than once he pushes his fingers back into Ronan to tease out whatever's left.
He forgets to pay attention to Ronan's state of consciousness.
Ronan’s state of consciousness is an infinity mirror, Ronan watching Ronan watching Ronan, none of them quite sure how to feel about this scenario. Usually it’s easy to dismiss Declan’s fantasies, as the Ronan he likes to dream about has very little to do with the Ronan who is his brother. Here, though, Declan has summoned the Ronan of his memories, identical to the Ronan who will wake when this is over.
...Is this what Declan really wants to do to him?
The return of sensation draws Ronan suddenly back into the body spread under his brother. Everything about his touch seems sharp and real. He can feel every muscle in Declan’s tongue working to clean him, each swipe leaving him more sensitive to the next. He doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until he finally exhales with a shudder he hopes Declan doesn’t notice.
The next time Declan’s fingers enter him, Ronan can’t play dead any longer. His muscles clench in reflex, a low moan rising from his throat.
Declan freezes when he hears that sound and feels the very tell-tale reaction of Ronan's waking body. But he's too gone, now. He's already damned, so he doesn't stop. Hoping Ronan is still slick enough, Declan works a third finger into him, just to watch his brother take him. He lifts his head just enough to try to catch his breath.
He fucks Ronan with slow, deep thrusts of his fingers as his mouth slides over his lower back in tender, wet kisses that almost beg forgiveness. Declan tries to curl his fingers just so the next time he pushes deep; he wants Ronan to feel good. To keep feeling good.
With his free hand, Declan wipes his mouth as best he can. Then he shifts his weight, pushing himself up so that he's leaning over Ronan, fingers still buried deep. God help him, Declan needs to see him.
As tender and careful as Declan is trying to be, Ronan is a virgin. Dreams haven't taught his waking body how to take these probing fingers. He's paralyzed all over again, too afraid to move, too afraid to interrupt the rhythm and risk tightening and tearing something. His back is tense beneath the brush of Declan's mouth.
He doesn't think about forgiveness. He doesn't think about anything.
His headphones have slid down like a wide collar around his neck, obscuring most of his face. He's grateful for that, as he realizes Declan is rising up to look at him. He doesn't know how he's supposed to arrange his expression. His brother only started this because he thought he was still asleep. Should he pretend to keep sleeping? Should he look like he's enjoying this? Whatever Declan's looking for, Ronan is pretty sure he's not hoping to see frozen terror.
Something changes about the fingers inside him, a subtle shift that sends a shock up Ronan's spine. He moans again, louder this time. His body rocks back against his will, seeking out that spark again.
"It's okay," he murmurs as Ronan moves beneath him. Some part of him should be utterly mortified that he's not exactly treating Ronan like a virgin. But this is still a dream and he is safe from the full force of that.
He adjusts his hand, goes back down to just two fingers as he pushes them deep again, trying to keep the angle just right for Ronan's sake. Declan is not a virgin, and has not been for a while. This feels closer to their waking lives than any of the fantasies that've come before. Is that his doing? Don't think, don't think.
Declan balances his weight back on his knees and slides his hand over Ronan's side and hip. Slowly, deliberate but not tentative, he slides his fingers around Ronan's cock.
Ronan sucks in a sharp breath as Declan shifts his weight, anticipating a much more sudden movement to follow. But Declan knows what he's doing. Even if he's not being as careful as he should be, he's being more caring than most would be. Gradually, methodically, his fingers massage the tension out of Ronan's body from the inside.
They're working him loose. Coaxing him open. Ronan relaxes, but not enough to shake the awareness that his brother is preparing him.
Declan's hand finds him softer, actually, than he was before. Not entirely soft, but still, not nearly as erect as he was in his sleep. It might just be nerves, though, because Declan's touch stirs a throb out of him, sends heat sinking back into his cock. Ronan doesn't know whether to rut forward or rock back to take those fingers deeper, so he does neither, allowing Declan to do the work himself.
"That's it," he whispers, full of soft praise when he feels Ronan throb against his palm. He needs more than spit and come and whatever dream-memory of lube there is. Declan lets his fingers push deep again and leaves them there as he leans over Ronan to grab lube off the nightstand. It's there because he needs it to be there.
He slides his fingers free so he can slick them generously, then pushes them back in with slow, gentle insistence. He hasn't even thought far enough ahead to consider this preparing - it's just something he needs to do. He won't hurt Ronan, not out of carelessness. It gets easier the more Ronan relaxes and Declan is diligent. He leans down and guides Ronan's cock past his lips. Heavy in his mouth, he goes down as far as he can without risking choking.
Ronan swallows down the moan that rises in answer to the soft warmth of Declan's mouth. Whatever he expected a blowjob to feel like, it wasn't this. He's surrounded, sinking into plush wet heat. It had been overwhelming to feel his brother's hands on him. This is too much, too good, too far. It's starting to feel like it isn't something that's happening to him, but something he's doing. He shivers as he fights the urge to thrust into Declan's mouth. God, his brother's mouth. Is this real?
And those fingers are still moving inside him, fucking him with greater ease than before. He works up the courage to spread himself a little wider, to rock back just enough to plead for another without being forced to use words. Every so often, Declan's fingertips brush up against something that lights up every one of his nerves. He's after that feeling, and it seems like the more Declan stuffs inside him, the more likely he'll find it.
His body feels like it's begging in every direction. And meanwhile, he's trying not to make a sound. It's bad enough that he's inviting this. How much will Declan hate him later enticing him, for enjoying it?
Declan closes his eyes and tries to take more. Ronan's bigger than anyone he's had before and the thought that he's enjoyed that before threatens a rush of shame. But he can feel Ronan pushing back on his fingers; Declan waits until he hears something more than stifled breaths escape his brother before he works a third finger in. He's slow, slower than he was earlier, and he can't help the moan that escapes him as Ronan takes it.
Does he want it? Does this mean he wants it, too?
He nearly chokes the next time Ronan's hips move. Declan lifts his head and gasps in a breath, lips wet and swollen from his effort. He dares to look at Ronan's face again, not sure what he'll find but he can't ignore him, either. He's not some forgettable person Declan's taken to bed for momentary relief. Ronan has been his whole life for so long, and despite the hardship and horror and stress, Declan doesn't regret it. He can't.
He fucks Ronan at a steady pace now, more confident now that his brother's not tense all over.
By the time Declan's mouth leaves his cock, Ronan is harder than he's ever been in his life. He can stifle every noise he likes, but his anatomy betrays him instantly, pulsing with heavy need. As soon as the warmth abandons him, Ronan wants to beg for it again.
But he's also afraid that he'll burst the moment Declan's lips encircle him. And he... can't. He can't let himself spill into his brother's mouth. Not when it's this real.
Their eyes meet by accident and Ronan immediately looks away, flushing with shame. He can only imagine what Declan's seeing right now: his little brother panting like a dog and fucking himself on Declan's fingers, desperate and filthy. A moment later, though, Ronan's gaze drifts back to him. He doesn't know what his brother is searching for in him, but he owes Declan the chance to look.
Just Ronan. Just his brother's familiar and fiercely blue eyes. Declan knows what he must look like: Ronan's only ever seen him want in dreams, and this is closer to their waking life than it's ever been. And he is raw with wanting his brother, aching and ashamed. He wants a hundred things all at once under the fear that, after this, Ronan will never let this happen again. But God, he looks beautiful like this, urgent and a little uncertain and needy.
Declan withdraws his fingers slowly. He doesn't want to leave Ronan empty, though, and he catches one of Ronan's hands to guide it down to take his place. His own slick fingers slide over Ronan's, watching as he coaxes his brother to fully participate in this debauchery by replacing Declan's fingers with his own. Satisfied, Declan moves higher and cradles Ronan's head. It's obscene to see the wet head of his cock brush Ronan's lips, almost like asking.
Ronan would like to believe he'll never let it happen again. He's too close to the flame, he knows, and he's going to get burned. No, if anything, he'll want more after this. That's how sin works. It's why they should have never played this dangerous game to begin with.
His own clumsy fingers don't feel half as good as his brother's. Which is no surprise, really. Declan is an expert in these matters. Still, Ronan continues just as taught, toying with himself because the other option is to have nothing inside him. An unbearable idea, at this point.
His eyes grow wider as Declan moves toward him, his heart skipping several beats. He didn't think he'd be getting his turn. But as the tip of Declan's cock traces his mouth, Ronan parts his lips to tentatively accept it.
How impossibly smooth that head is. In dreams, Ronan never noticed. He slicks it with a roll of his tongue, then drags his lips over the wet bulb just to enjoy the texture. It's so satisfying, made to be mouthed. His gaze darts up to catch a glimpse of Declan's expression, to figure out whether he likes being explored so slowly or whether he's impatient to be swallowed.
Declan is nothing but pleased. Maybe too much so. He strokes his fingers into Ronan's hair and he can feel his heart hammering in his chest as Ronan's lips and tongue tease over just the head.
"Jesus, Ronan." But he whispers it like a prayer, like a plea. Declan realizes very quickly that he would happily spend hours like this, finding out what Ronan's mouth can do other than curse and bite and sneer. The next pass of Ronan's tongue makes Declan's hips jump. There's an apology on the lips but he doesn't quite breathe it to life. There is nothing to be sorry for: this is Ronan's doing. This is all for him and because of him. Declan tries to hold his gaze as he moves more deliberately to push past the slick tease of Ronan's lips to feel the perfect heat of his mouth, gauging his brother's reaction as he does.
And in the back of his mind he's aware that Ronan has three fingers stuffed inside him, plaintively trying to find the pleasure Declan had been giving him.
Ronan drops his mouth open wider to accommodate, accepting Declan onto his tongue like it's the damned Eucharist in the most unholy of masses. His name sounds like a prayer when Declan speaks it, but it's Ronan who feels like he's in the middle of worship. His lips form a moist ring that slides further down Declan's shaft. It'll take practice before he can take as many inches as Declan took from him, he realizes quickly.
But that would mean practicing. He feels feverish when he considers it, imagining himself on his knees in front of Declan every day, working diligently to perfect this. A moan vibrates up his throat, involuntary, working its way into the lapping of his tongue.
His fingers still haven't managed to do what Declan could do to him, but he doesn't give up on the task. They glide in sync with the bobbing of his head, his mind drifting to the most forbidden thing he could want. Waking up from a dream with his brother's seed inside him isn't the same as feeling it pumped into him.
Everything else has been different from their fantasy world. Would that feel different, too?
Declan pins down Ronan's other hand and leans over him to adjust the angle of his head. The thought of having this for his own makes something hot coil up in him. What would it be like to wake next to Ronan, to take him as soon as he's conscious but not able to move? To remind him he has a brother who has loved him his entire life, who would do anything for him. Declan's lips part but his moan is stifled, strained as Ronan's voice vibrates around him.
He tells himself they're past redemption now. Ronan is straining to meet him, is fucking himself until--what? Until Declan takes him? Until he tells him to stop? God. He moves his hips in a steady rhythm now, gentle as he fucks Ronan's mouth and careful not to push too deep. His fingers tighten in Ronan's hair.
"I dream of you all the time," he whispers, feverish and heavy with need. It's not fair. Ronan's dreams manifest with so little effort and Declan--Declan has never dared dream too much for himself.
Ronan will be dreaming of this for the rest of his life. He can feel every second of it searing itself into his memory, a red-hot brand of shame. He is damned. He's a demon, like his father. If Declan loves him now, it won't be for much longer.
He can't stop.
It feels like drowning, the way Declan drags him down and fucks his mouth. He has to gasp around Declan's cock for breath, every thrust like a wave rolling over him, slow yet all-consuming. His heart thunders in his ears as he forces himself still, all of his focus on making himself pliant to his brother's maneuvering. Even his fingers slip out of him. The most Ronan allows himself is the swipe of his palm along his own cock, smearing the pre-come that's seeped all the way to its base.
Declan tells himself it's a dream. Tries to remember that as long as Ronan's here, he can do anything in a dream. He shivers at the wickedness of it and he gives a smooth thrust of his hips, pushing deeper after Ronan gasps. But then he pulls back, slowly, depriving Ronan just for the chance to let his brother speak.
Ronan looks like sin and Declan knows he's damned.
He brushes his thumb beneath Ronan's slick bottom lip.
"I wanna mark you everywhere," he confesses, and his cock jumps at the thought. "But only if you let me."
Only if you want me to, he can't quite say. Declan doesn't know what he'll do if he hears those words out loud.
Ronan stares up at Declan. His withdrawal has left Ronan's swollen and saliva-slicked lips parted, chest rising and falling rapidly to catch his breath. He looks drunk, or drugged, or on the verge of tears. Vulnerable in a way he's never been. Younger than he's been since they were orphaned. Lost. He's so lost.
Declan feels something in him shatter at the vulnerable sound in Ronan's voice. He moves so he can lean down, so he can pull Ronan into a kiss that is far more tender than anything he's done yet. And another, and another, until they're both breathless again.
"Never," he whispers. "Never, Ronan." Their brows touch and Declan strokes his thumbs over Ronan's cheeks. He laughs, weak and hoarse. "You are holy to me."
And maybe that makes all of this worse, but there is some truth there. The little god (not so little anymore) that Declan has protected for as long as he can remember. He pulls back enough so that they can look at each other.
Those fervent kisses are a far more intimate answer than Ronan expected, and he seems a bit stunned as he accepts them, returns them with soft swipes of his lips against Declan's. His breath shakes as he exhales, his eyes drifting shut as his brother administers these foreign gentle touches.
Ronan does not believe that he's holy, but he believes he's holy to Declan. He cannot imagine any other explanation for his brother's devotion.
And if this - if all of this - is an expression of that devotion, there's nothing to be afraid of. He meets Declan's eyes, then draws close to bestow one more kiss to his lips.
He murmurs into them, "I want everything you've ever wanted to give me."
Declan takes one more kiss, tongue sweeping into Ronan's mouth where he can already catch the barest taste of himself. When he pulls away, he catches Ronan's wrists and pins them over his head. He'll work his way down. He lets go just long enough to guide his cock back into Ronan's waiting, soft mouth and this time he lets himself moan. He shouldn't push when he's been granted this but Declan rocks his hips forward, slow but deliberate, to see what Ronan can take. To see what he will take.
He wonders if Ronan could have imagined this in all their fantasies, the truth buried beneath every single one of them. How meaningless Declan's life would suddenly be if Ronan were not part of it.
Another gentle rock, an insistent but calculated push. "That's it," he breathes, voice heavy. "You can do it."
Ronan understood himself as a kink, as the idea of a brother turned over in secret, spat into a tissue, and tossed away until the next lonely night. He's granted every kind of wish to all sorts of people. Until now, he's devoted no more thought to the meaning of Declan's perversions than any other dream he's been.
But Declan isn't indulging an idea anymore.
Ronan's tongue slides forward to greet him, guiding that thick cock back into his eager mouth. What Declan doesn't know is how often Ronan himself fantasized about his brother crawling into his bed, climbing over him, pushing into his mouth. He spent his entire adolescence furious at every Ashley who was allowed to explore all the parts of Declan that he never could. One minute, his eyes would be drinking in the way Declan's slacks were tailored to hug his ass perfectly, and the next he'd be snapping out a comment on Declan's promiscuity. For years, he wouldn't allow himself to jerk off because his thoughts inevitably drifted to his brother.
He let himself believe it was an accident every time Declan showered with the door open when only the two of them were home. That Declan didn't realize his hand was resting on his brother's inner thigh when he sat in the passenger seat. That Declan's eyes didn't linger on him at the gym, and further, he was sick for imagining it.
Now Declan's cock sinks deep into his mouth, and with it, his brother showers him in praises and encouragement. Ronan hums as he savors it, taking those thrusts well. He wants so badly to drink Declan down, he's sure he can take anything.
Impossible years feel erased now as Ronan takes him, eagerly takes him. The warm wet of his mouth sends all his thoughts reeling, makes him forget for a moment everything but how this feels, and how Ronan looks now that he has some reassurance.
How could Declan ever think of him as ruined?
It takes nothing to find a rhythm again and Declan tries to be mindful of finding Ronan's limits. He listens through the ragged sound of his own breathing to make sure he isn't hearing sounds of distress or choking. He gasps sharply when their angle shifts and he slides deeper. Ronan takes it, voice vibrating around Declan's cock in little hums and moans and sounds that are going to fill his head for nights to come. And, shamefully, he wants them.
He forces himself to draw back; he's close and he doesn't want this first time to be a choking mess for Ronan. Not when it's so new. So he keeps his thrusts shallow, quick and then slow again. Watching Ronan's mouth stretch around him, feeling him bob his head forward to try to take more, is the beginning of his undoing.
When his peak hits, Declan pushes deeper into Ronan's mouth and his fingers go tight in Ronan's hair. He's been aching hard since this dream started and this is the first thing that's ever felt like real relief in all his fantasies.
For all of Ronan's determination, it doesn't really get less frightening. He still has the sense he's submerged, like the hand gripping his hair is holding him underwater. He has to fight the instinct to struggle. His body twitches beneath Declan and his fingers curl into claws, gripping the sheets for dear life.
But no, he doesn't choke. Every thrust feels like it'll be the one to cut off his air for good, but he's proven wrong every time. Declan knows what he's doing. Ronan puts himself in his brother's hands, like he always has, and Declan inevitably demonstrates that the trust is well-placed. Even when Declan thrusts so deep it feels like he might slide all the way down into Ronan's throat, he withdraws quickly enough to let his brother catch air.
And when the flood finally comes, Ronan doesn't drown in it. He feels the burst of heat hit his tongue and reflex takes over. He swallows and swallows as the torrent rushes down his throat, lapping at Declan's cock until the most furious pulses cease. And even then, unsure if Declan's truly finished, Ronan keeps suckling to draw out whatever remains. Even though most of it spilled down his throat, his mouth feels thick with the coating of Declan's seed, a warm tingle wherever it touches.
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That’s proven as Declan reaches between his legs. Ronan doesn’t even twitch. The only answer Declan can find is in the evidence, and yes, it’s there. His brother is overflowing with his crime scene, Declan’s semen coating his inner thighs. And higher, if Declan follows the path. It’s fresh enough that Declan might as well have pulled out of him seconds ago, despite their occupying two entirely separate bedrooms.
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But he doesn't even stir. God help him.
As Declan sinks down, he pushes Ronan into a more accommodating position on his stomach. His nose brushes the curve of Ronan's ass and his fingers slide between his cheeks again to feel the slick mess of his hole. Jesus, it's like he'd just finished. He plants one hand to keep Ronan spread open and gives in to temptation with a slow, firm swipe of his tongue. He stifles a moan but his hand tightens as he sinks into his task, taking his time to lick and tease and suck. More than once he pushes his fingers back into Ronan to tease out whatever's left.
He forgets to pay attention to Ronan's state of consciousness.
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...Is this what Declan really wants to do to him?
The return of sensation draws Ronan suddenly back into the body spread under his brother. Everything about his touch seems sharp and real. He can feel every muscle in Declan’s tongue working to clean him, each swipe leaving him more sensitive to the next. He doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until he finally exhales with a shudder he hopes Declan doesn’t notice.
The next time Declan’s fingers enter him, Ronan can’t play dead any longer. His muscles clench in reflex, a low moan rising from his throat.
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He fucks Ronan with slow, deep thrusts of his fingers as his mouth slides over his lower back in tender, wet kisses that almost beg forgiveness. Declan tries to curl his fingers just so the next time he pushes deep; he wants Ronan to feel good. To keep feeling good.
With his free hand, Declan wipes his mouth as best he can. Then he shifts his weight, pushing himself up so that he's leaning over Ronan, fingers still buried deep. God help him, Declan needs to see him.
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He doesn't think about forgiveness. He doesn't think about anything.
His headphones have slid down like a wide collar around his neck, obscuring most of his face. He's grateful for that, as he realizes Declan is rising up to look at him. He doesn't know how he's supposed to arrange his expression. His brother only started this because he thought he was still asleep. Should he pretend to keep sleeping? Should he look like he's enjoying this? Whatever Declan's looking for, Ronan is pretty sure he's not hoping to see frozen terror.
Something changes about the fingers inside him, a subtle shift that sends a shock up Ronan's spine. He moans again, louder this time. His body rocks back against his will, seeking out that spark again.
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He adjusts his hand, goes back down to just two fingers as he pushes them deep again, trying to keep the angle just right for Ronan's sake. Declan is not a virgin, and has not been for a while. This feels closer to their waking lives than any of the fantasies that've come before. Is that his doing? Don't think, don't think.
Declan balances his weight back on his knees and slides his hand over Ronan's side and hip. Slowly, deliberate but not tentative, he slides his fingers around Ronan's cock.
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They're working him loose. Coaxing him open. Ronan relaxes, but not enough to shake the awareness that his brother is preparing him.
Declan's hand finds him softer, actually, than he was before. Not entirely soft, but still, not nearly as erect as he was in his sleep. It might just be nerves, though, because Declan's touch stirs a throb out of him, sends heat sinking back into his cock. Ronan doesn't know whether to rut forward or rock back to take those fingers deeper, so he does neither, allowing Declan to do the work himself.
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He slides his fingers free so he can slick them generously, then pushes them back in with slow, gentle insistence. He hasn't even thought far enough ahead to consider this preparing - it's just something he needs to do. He won't hurt Ronan, not out of carelessness. It gets easier the more Ronan relaxes and Declan is diligent. He leans down and guides Ronan's cock past his lips. Heavy in his mouth, he goes down as far as he can without risking choking.
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And those fingers are still moving inside him, fucking him with greater ease than before. He works up the courage to spread himself a little wider, to rock back just enough to plead for another without being forced to use words. Every so often, Declan's fingertips brush up against something that lights up every one of his nerves. He's after that feeling, and it seems like the more Declan stuffs inside him, the more likely he'll find it.
His body feels like it's begging in every direction. And meanwhile, he's trying not to make a sound. It's bad enough that he's inviting this. How much will Declan hate him later enticing him, for enjoying it?
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Does he want it? Does this mean he wants it, too?
He nearly chokes the next time Ronan's hips move. Declan lifts his head and gasps in a breath, lips wet and swollen from his effort. He dares to look at Ronan's face again, not sure what he'll find but he can't ignore him, either. He's not some forgettable person Declan's taken to bed for momentary relief. Ronan has been his whole life for so long, and despite the hardship and horror and stress, Declan doesn't regret it. He can't.
He fucks Ronan at a steady pace now, more confident now that his brother's not tense all over.
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But he's also afraid that he'll burst the moment Declan's lips encircle him. And he... can't. He can't let himself spill into his brother's mouth. Not when it's this real.
Their eyes meet by accident and Ronan immediately looks away, flushing with shame. He can only imagine what Declan's seeing right now: his little brother panting like a dog and fucking himself on Declan's fingers, desperate and filthy. A moment later, though, Ronan's gaze drifts back to him. He doesn't know what his brother is searching for in him, but he owes Declan the chance to look.
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Declan withdraws his fingers slowly. He doesn't want to leave Ronan empty, though, and he catches one of Ronan's hands to guide it down to take his place. His own slick fingers slide over Ronan's, watching as he coaxes his brother to fully participate in this debauchery by replacing Declan's fingers with his own. Satisfied, Declan moves higher and cradles Ronan's head. It's obscene to see the wet head of his cock brush Ronan's lips, almost like asking.
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His own clumsy fingers don't feel half as good as his brother's. Which is no surprise, really. Declan is an expert in these matters. Still, Ronan continues just as taught, toying with himself because the other option is to have nothing inside him. An unbearable idea, at this point.
His eyes grow wider as Declan moves toward him, his heart skipping several beats. He didn't think he'd be getting his turn. But as the tip of Declan's cock traces his mouth, Ronan parts his lips to tentatively accept it.
How impossibly smooth that head is. In dreams, Ronan never noticed. He slicks it with a roll of his tongue, then drags his lips over the wet bulb just to enjoy the texture. It's so satisfying, made to be mouthed. His gaze darts up to catch a glimpse of Declan's expression, to figure out whether he likes being explored so slowly or whether he's impatient to be swallowed.
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"Jesus, Ronan." But he whispers it like a prayer, like a plea. Declan realizes very quickly that he would happily spend hours like this, finding out what Ronan's mouth can do other than curse and bite and sneer. The next pass of Ronan's tongue makes Declan's hips jump. There's an apology on the lips but he doesn't quite breathe it to life. There is nothing to be sorry for: this is Ronan's doing. This is all for him and because of him. Declan tries to hold his gaze as he moves more deliberately to push past the slick tease of Ronan's lips to feel the perfect heat of his mouth, gauging his brother's reaction as he does.
And in the back of his mind he's aware that Ronan has three fingers stuffed inside him, plaintively trying to find the pleasure Declan had been giving him.
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But that would mean practicing. He feels feverish when he considers it, imagining himself on his knees in front of Declan every day, working diligently to perfect this. A moan vibrates up his throat, involuntary, working its way into the lapping of his tongue.
His fingers still haven't managed to do what Declan could do to him, but he doesn't give up on the task. They glide in sync with the bobbing of his head, his mind drifting to the most forbidden thing he could want. Waking up from a dream with his brother's seed inside him isn't the same as feeling it pumped into him.
Everything else has been different from their fantasy world. Would that feel different, too?
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He tells himself they're past redemption now. Ronan is straining to meet him, is fucking himself until--what? Until Declan takes him? Until he tells him to stop? God. He moves his hips in a steady rhythm now, gentle as he fucks Ronan's mouth and careful not to push too deep. His fingers tighten in Ronan's hair.
"I dream of you all the time," he whispers, feverish and heavy with need. It's not fair. Ronan's dreams manifest with so little effort and Declan--Declan has never dared dream too much for himself.
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He can't stop.
It feels like drowning, the way Declan drags him down and fucks his mouth. He has to gasp around Declan's cock for breath, every thrust like a wave rolling over him, slow yet all-consuming. His heart thunders in his ears as he forces himself still, all of his focus on making himself pliant to his brother's maneuvering. Even his fingers slip out of him. The most Ronan allows himself is the swipe of his palm along his own cock, smearing the pre-come that's seeped all the way to its base.
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Ronan looks like sin and Declan knows he's damned.
He brushes his thumb beneath Ronan's slick bottom lip.
"I wanna mark you everywhere," he confesses, and his cock jumps at the thought. "But only if you let me."
Only if you want me to, he can't quite say. Declan doesn't know what he'll do if he hears those words out loud.
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He asks weakly, "Will you think I'm ruined?"
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"Never," he whispers. "Never, Ronan." Their brows touch and Declan strokes his thumbs over Ronan's cheeks. He laughs, weak and hoarse. "You are holy to me."
And maybe that makes all of this worse, but there is some truth there. The little god (not so little anymore) that Declan has protected for as long as he can remember. He pulls back enough so that they can look at each other.
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Ronan does not believe that he's holy, but he believes he's holy to Declan. He cannot imagine any other explanation for his brother's devotion.
And if this - if all of this - is an expression of that devotion, there's nothing to be afraid of. He meets Declan's eyes, then draws close to bestow one more kiss to his lips.
He murmurs into them, "I want everything you've ever wanted to give me."
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He wonders if Ronan could have imagined this in all their fantasies, the truth buried beneath every single one of them. How meaningless Declan's life would suddenly be if Ronan were not part of it.
Another gentle rock, an insistent but calculated push. "That's it," he breathes, voice heavy. "You can do it."
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But Declan isn't indulging an idea anymore.
Ronan's tongue slides forward to greet him, guiding that thick cock back into his eager mouth. What Declan doesn't know is how often Ronan himself fantasized about his brother crawling into his bed, climbing over him, pushing into his mouth. He spent his entire adolescence furious at every Ashley who was allowed to explore all the parts of Declan that he never could. One minute, his eyes would be drinking in the way Declan's slacks were tailored to hug his ass perfectly, and the next he'd be snapping out a comment on Declan's promiscuity. For years, he wouldn't allow himself to jerk off because his thoughts inevitably drifted to his brother.
He let himself believe it was an accident every time Declan showered with the door open when only the two of them were home. That Declan didn't realize his hand was resting on his brother's inner thigh when he sat in the passenger seat. That Declan's eyes didn't linger on him at the gym, and further, he was sick for imagining it.
Now Declan's cock sinks deep into his mouth, and with it, his brother showers him in praises and encouragement. Ronan hums as he savors it, taking those thrusts well. He wants so badly to drink Declan down, he's sure he can take anything.
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How could Declan ever think of him as ruined?
It takes nothing to find a rhythm again and Declan tries to be mindful of finding Ronan's limits. He listens through the ragged sound of his own breathing to make sure he isn't hearing sounds of distress or choking. He gasps sharply when their angle shifts and he slides deeper. Ronan takes it, voice vibrating around Declan's cock in little hums and moans and sounds that are going to fill his head for nights to come. And, shamefully, he wants them.
He forces himself to draw back; he's close and he doesn't want this first time to be a choking mess for Ronan. Not when it's so new. So he keeps his thrusts shallow, quick and then slow again. Watching Ronan's mouth stretch around him, feeling him bob his head forward to try to take more, is the beginning of his undoing.
When his peak hits, Declan pushes deeper into Ronan's mouth and his fingers go tight in Ronan's hair. He's been aching hard since this dream started and this is the first thing that's ever felt like real relief in all his fantasies.
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But no, he doesn't choke. Every thrust feels like it'll be the one to cut off his air for good, but he's proven wrong every time. Declan knows what he's doing. Ronan puts himself in his brother's hands, like he always has, and Declan inevitably demonstrates that the trust is well-placed. Even when Declan thrusts so deep it feels like he might slide all the way down into Ronan's throat, he withdraws quickly enough to let his brother catch air.
And when the flood finally comes, Ronan doesn't drown in it. He feels the burst of heat hit his tongue and reflex takes over. He swallows and swallows as the torrent rushes down his throat, lapping at Declan's cock until the most furious pulses cease. And even then, unsure if Declan's truly finished, Ronan keeps suckling to draw out whatever remains. Even though most of it spilled down his throat, his mouth feels thick with the coating of Declan's seed, a warm tingle wherever it touches.
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