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.
Declan braces himself against the wall or headboard, whatever's right there, and lets himself get lost in the fact that Ronan is swallowing. His entire body shivers beneath the gentle suction that comes after he's finished and it takes all his will power to pull out of Ronan's mouth. Immediately he looks down; he swallows thickly when he sees the mess of Ronan's mouth, the string of saliva or come or both that connects them for just a moment.
Slowly, he lets his body slide down until his weight is over Ronan, one hand pressed to the bed while the other, still tangled in Ronan's hair, guides him up for a kiss. Declan's tongue sweeps into his mouth where his taste still lingers. There's no hesitation, no part of this sin he doesn't share in.
He pulls back when they're both breathless again - still - and leans up enough to see Ronan's face in focus.
"Okay?" It's not something he'd ask in a fantasy. They've gone far beyond that now.
Everything about Ronan looks wet. His flushed skin shines with sweat, his rosy lips smeared with glossy saliva, traces of Declan's overflow dribbling from the corners of his mouth. Even though all of this started with Declan's impulse to lick him clean, he's surprised when his brother ducks down to kiss him. He feels like too much of a mess for a kiss like that.
As Declan draws back, Ronan meets his gaze with glassy eyes. His lips move but he doesn't know what to say. Okay? No, not really. He's dizzy. Dazed. Possibly in shock. A psychologist might say traumatized.
Declan might not forgive himself if the outcome of all of this is trauma. They've both had enough; Ronan doesn't need more from the brother that is supposed to protect him. But the way he asks for more makes Declan's cock feel heavy again. He presses another tender kiss to Ronan's mouth and his hand slides down his brother's side. Declan pulls Ronan closer, onto his side; his fingers skirt over his hip and down until he can brush them over Ronan's still-slick hole. He tests the waters with two fingers first, keeping Ronan close to him as he does it.
He'd spent so much time trying to parent his brother and he could never indulge Ronan the way he'd indulged Matthew. Too much anger, too much bitterness. The threat of mutual destruction had been too great. And then Ronan got to the age at which he didn't need to ask Declan for anything again.
But he's asking for something now. Declan works a third finger back in and sighs as Ronan takes it. He can feel his brother's cock against his stomach, slick with precome and leaving trails of it on Declan's skin.
"More?" he asks, like he needs to hear it again. More than this? More of him? Ronan is a virgin and he will still be one when he wakes. Won't he?
Ronan curls up against his brother, huddling in search of safety, the way he did when he was smaller. He slips his arms around Declan, drawing close at the invitation, and hugs one leg around him, thigh over hip. He makes it easy for Declan to soothe him, easier to indulge him.
He shivers at the tease of fingertips and exhales in relief when Declan finally pushes back into him. He wasn't sure, himself, what he meant by more. But as Declan's fingers work their way deeper, Ronan is convinced this isn't the incorrect answer.
His hips shift and his cock throbs in the tight space between their bodies. With the third finger, he rolls back to take it to the knuckle. "More," he breathes into Declan's ear, like it's a secret.
Ronan's voice in his ear draws a quiet moan from him. He pushes his fingers as deep as he can before he pulls them out. What's the best way to do this? Ronan's not his first man, not even his first virgin. He decides that he wants to be able to kiss Ronan through this, and the thought terrifies him, but he gives in to it now.
He pushes Ronan onto his back and rolls with him, staying between his thighs. Declan takes a moment to just run his hand up his brother's leg, appreciating being this close to him. He manages to find the lube in the bed.
"I need you with me for this. Don't try to take it for my sake - shove me if you need to."
Declan doesn't think it will come to that - he likes to think he's more observant than the average asshole - but he doesn't want Ronan to feel like he can't say stop. Declan is a liar, but he's never deliberately hurt Ronan (outside of fistfights) and he isn't going to start now. He reaches for one of Ronan's hands and spills lube across his fingers. Declan presses close, leaning over his brother as he guides Ronan's hand to his cock, encouraging him to touch him. They're both in this now.
This may be Ronan's first time, but for all he knows, it'll also be his last. If the threat of eternal damnation hasn't stopped him, he's certainly not going to give up because of a little pain. Ever since their lives were put on the line, Declan's the only person who's even gotten close enough to touch him. It's not a situation that'll be changing anytime soon.
This is it. This is all he'll ever have.
His heart slams in his chest as Declan lays him down. He suspects that this, especially, is not going to be as easy as dreams make it seem. But the hand caressing his leg has his dick pulsing so hard it aches. An arousal this intense can't be a lie. It has to be what he wants. It has to be.
He gets so lost in his justifications that he doesn't even realizes Declan's spreading lube across his fingers. Ronan's eyes aren't on his hand, but on his brother's face. He doesn't snap out of it until Declan's cock is pressed into his palm and he's guided to participate.
It feels so much bigger now that he has to consider the prospect of taking it inside him. There's no way it won't hurt. But Ronan's concern isn't the pain. As his hand glides along Declan's length, preparing it to claim him, he can't stop staring at his brother's face. When he was younger, he'd let himself believe he was saving himself for true love. As he grew older, he'd resigned himself to the truth that no one would actually want him. What does it mean to give up his innocence to his brother? Is he doing it out of love or defeat?
As he finishes the work of slicking Declan from head to base, Ronan tells him, "Just go slow. An inch, or... Just let me see what it feels like."
Their lives have fallen apart - more than once, impressively enough - and he has given everything to try and hold it together. The only real relationships he's ever had are--impressively lacking. How could he love anyone that knew only a veneer? As contentious as he and Ronan have been, at least it's real.
His breath catches as Ronan strokes him and somehow he manages to hold his brother's forever-intense gaze. Declan kisses him at the end of his instructions, if only to spare himself for a moment. With just a bit of shuffling, he gets closer between Ronan's thighs and reaches down to guide himself. Heat rushes through him at the first slick slide between Ronan's cheeks, just brushing over him before he finally pushes in. Just enough to be inside him, and it takes everything Declan has to stay there, waiting for Ronan's word to keep going.
Ronan's heart pounds faster and faster as Declan descends on him, so loud he's sure his brother can hear it. It takes effort not to recoil when he feels that first brush, a thousand doubts racing through his mind. If there's ever going to be a moment to object, it's now, while he has something of himself left to save. But the moment passes and Ronan says nothing.
And then it's happening.
His breath hitches as he Declan press up, press in. Ronan doesn't think he's trying to resist, but his body does it anyway, clenching tight to fend off the invasion. He inhales. He exhales. He wills himself to relax, and only then does he start to give.
Declan is miraculously patient. The push is slow and smooth, and now that he's letting it happen, Ronan realizes it's even softer than the fingers Declan had used to stretch him. He'd marveled earlier at the way Declan's cock felt like it belonged in his mouth, but as his body begins to swallow its slick bulb, he amends the revelation: Declan's cock feels like it belongs in him.
Ronan tucks his face into the crook of Declan's neck, seeking... something. Safety? Comfort? Protection from the very thing that Declan's doing to him? "Deeper," he orders, his voice shaking.
When he feels that early resistance, Declan almost calls it off. But he can hear Ronan breathing, and then he feels him give. As Ronan leans into him, head against his neck, Declan slides his arms beneath him, braced behind his shoulders with one hand cradling the back of Ronan's head. Whatever comfort he has to give, it's Ronan's.
The trembling command draws a sharp breath from him, and even with it, Declan moves slowly. He sinks in, inch by inch, and feels Ronan's body yield to him.
"Oh, God," he whispers, his own voice tremulous. But it isn't the shivering plea of a sinner; it's the awed gratitude after the flood has receded, after some undeserved gift has been given. Declan presses his nose into Ronan's hair and holds him tight as their bodies finally meet.
Ronan had expected pain. Agony, actually, given all the damning talk he's heard about sodomy over the years. But either the cautionary tales have been greatly exaggerated or Declan is truly that gentle. Where he'd expected strain to give way to stabbing, the punishment never comes. Instead, it only gets easier as Declan slides deeper. Ronan's body seems to unfold, welcoming his brother's passage.
God must not be watching.
When their bodies come to lie flush against one another, Ronan realizes that Declan is completely buried in him. And while it doesn't hurt, the sensation is intense to the point of shattering. Ronan's throat feels tight, the way it does when he's fighting back tears. He's never felt so vulnerable. In fact, he's pretty sure he never understood what vulnerability meant until now.
Does that mean he should beg for this to stop? Or does everyone feel like this the first time? When his brother says his name, it sounds like he means love. Is there anything in this embrace that could possibly harm him?
Ronan realizes he hasn't moved, hasn't breathed. When he finally exhales, a moan shudders out of him, a surprise even to him. The relief of it.
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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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Slowly, he lets his body slide down until his weight is over Ronan, one hand pressed to the bed while the other, still tangled in Ronan's hair, guides him up for a kiss. Declan's tongue sweeps into his mouth where his taste still lingers. There's no hesitation, no part of this sin he doesn't share in.
He pulls back when they're both breathless again - still - and leans up enough to see Ronan's face in focus.
"Okay?" It's not something he'd ask in a fantasy. They've gone far beyond that now.
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As Declan draws back, Ronan meets his gaze with glassy eyes. His lips move but he doesn't know what to say. Okay? No, not really. He's dizzy. Dazed. Possibly in shock. A psychologist might say traumatized.
He can still taste Declan when he swallows.
Ronan tells him, "I want more."
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He'd spent so much time trying to parent his brother and he could never indulge Ronan the way he'd indulged Matthew. Too much anger, too much bitterness. The threat of mutual destruction had been too great. And then Ronan got to the age at which he didn't need to ask Declan for anything again.
But he's asking for something now. Declan works a third finger back in and sighs as Ronan takes it. He can feel his brother's cock against his stomach, slick with precome and leaving trails of it on Declan's skin.
"More?" he asks, like he needs to hear it again. More than this? More of him? Ronan is a virgin and he will still be one when he wakes. Won't he?
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He shivers at the tease of fingertips and exhales in relief when Declan finally pushes back into him. He wasn't sure, himself, what he meant by more. But as Declan's fingers work their way deeper, Ronan is convinced this isn't the incorrect answer.
His hips shift and his cock throbs in the tight space between their bodies. With the third finger, he rolls back to take it to the knuckle. "More," he breathes into Declan's ear, like it's a secret.
And it is.
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He pushes Ronan onto his back and rolls with him, staying between his thighs. Declan takes a moment to just run his hand up his brother's leg, appreciating being this close to him. He manages to find the lube in the bed.
"I need you with me for this. Don't try to take it for my sake - shove me if you need to."
Declan doesn't think it will come to that - he likes to think he's more observant than the average asshole - but he doesn't want Ronan to feel like he can't say stop. Declan is a liar, but he's never deliberately hurt Ronan (outside of fistfights) and he isn't going to start now. He reaches for one of Ronan's hands and spills lube across his fingers. Declan presses close, leaning over his brother as he guides Ronan's hand to his cock, encouraging him to touch him. They're both in this now.
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This is it. This is all he'll ever have.
His heart slams in his chest as Declan lays him down. He suspects that this, especially, is not going to be as easy as dreams make it seem. But the hand caressing his leg has his dick pulsing so hard it aches. An arousal this intense can't be a lie. It has to be what he wants. It has to be.
He gets so lost in his justifications that he doesn't even realizes Declan's spreading lube across his fingers. Ronan's eyes aren't on his hand, but on his brother's face. He doesn't snap out of it until Declan's cock is pressed into his palm and he's guided to participate.
It feels so much bigger now that he has to consider the prospect of taking it inside him. There's no way it won't hurt. But Ronan's concern isn't the pain. As his hand glides along Declan's length, preparing it to claim him, he can't stop staring at his brother's face. When he was younger, he'd let himself believe he was saving himself for true love. As he grew older, he'd resigned himself to the truth that no one would actually want him. What does it mean to give up his innocence to his brother? Is he doing it out of love or defeat?
As he finishes the work of slicking Declan from head to base, Ronan tells him, "Just go slow. An inch, or... Just let me see what it feels like."
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Their lives have fallen apart - more than once, impressively enough - and he has given everything to try and hold it together. The only real relationships he's ever had are--impressively lacking. How could he love anyone that knew only a veneer? As contentious as he and Ronan have been, at least it's real.
His breath catches as Ronan strokes him and somehow he manages to hold his brother's forever-intense gaze. Declan kisses him at the end of his instructions, if only to spare himself for a moment. With just a bit of shuffling, he gets closer between Ronan's thighs and reaches down to guide himself. Heat rushes through him at the first slick slide between Ronan's cheeks, just brushing over him before he finally pushes in. Just enough to be inside him, and it takes everything Declan has to stay there, waiting for Ronan's word to keep going.
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And then it's happening.
His breath hitches as he Declan press up, press in. Ronan doesn't think he's trying to resist, but his body does it anyway, clenching tight to fend off the invasion. He inhales. He exhales. He wills himself to relax, and only then does he start to give.
Declan is miraculously patient. The push is slow and smooth, and now that he's letting it happen, Ronan realizes it's even softer than the fingers Declan had used to stretch him. He'd marveled earlier at the way Declan's cock felt like it belonged in his mouth, but as his body begins to swallow its slick bulb, he amends the revelation: Declan's cock feels like it belongs in him.
Ronan tucks his face into the crook of Declan's neck, seeking... something. Safety? Comfort? Protection from the very thing that Declan's doing to him? "Deeper," he orders, his voice shaking.
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The trembling command draws a sharp breath from him, and even with it, Declan moves slowly. He sinks in, inch by inch, and feels Ronan's body yield to him.
"Oh, God," he whispers, his own voice tremulous. But it isn't the shivering plea of a sinner; it's the awed gratitude after the flood has receded, after some undeserved gift has been given. Declan presses his nose into Ronan's hair and holds him tight as their bodies finally meet.
"Ronan."
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God must not be watching.
When their bodies come to lie flush against one another, Ronan realizes that Declan is completely buried in him. And while it doesn't hurt, the sensation is intense to the point of shattering. Ronan's throat feels tight, the way it does when he's fighting back tears. He's never felt so vulnerable. In fact, he's pretty sure he never understood what vulnerability meant until now.
Does that mean he should beg for this to stop? Or does everyone feel like this the first time? When his brother says his name, it sounds like he means love. Is there anything in this embrace that could possibly harm him?
Ronan realizes he hasn't moved, hasn't breathed. When he finally exhales, a moan shudders out of him, a surprise even to him. The relief of it.
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