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.
Declan doesn't expose himself. He doesn't let anyone in, just gives them the illusion of intimacy. He's good at it. But he feels raw now, utterly ripped open and laid bare. Whatever comes after this, Ronan will always know.
His breath catches and he lifts his head enough to see Ronan's face. He didn't realize he'd been waiting for something until it happens: Ronan moans and a rush of relief sweeps through him. Thank God. He strokes his fingers back through Ronan's hair. There's no going back now. He's done this - they've done this.
He adjusts his position and rocks his hips back just enough for a gentle thrust. Deep, slow. Testing. Then again, and again, never drawing back far. Not yet. But it feels good, every lazy slide in and then out again.
"Still okay?" he asks on a shivering breath. He's still holding back.
Ronan wishes Declan wouldn't look at him. He wants to stay hidden against his brother's throat, but instead they lock eyes. He can feel the redness of his face, the fever of shame burning him, and he doesn't want Declan to take the blame for his sickness. It isn't Declan's fault that Ronan is the way that he is. Everyone in the world is driven to possess him. Only Declan has the added curse of sharing his bloodline, and it's their father who's responsible for that.
He means to answer with a word, but the next thrust pushes a gasp out of him instead. He can feel Declan's pulse inside his body, making it impossible to ignore his presence, to think of anything else. In spite of Declan's restraint, Ronan feels like he's being rearranged every time his brother slides deep. He has no time to process the sensation before it's happening again, again, again.
He forces himself to hold Declan's gaze. If he can't pretend this isn't happening, then he has to understand everything that is. His older brother is fucking him. And the pressure that every thrust builds up in him is his own pleasure in answer to it. His older brother is fucking him, and he's enjoying it. He's enjoying it so much that it feels like his world would end if they stopped now.
Declan is enjoying it and Ronan is begging for more. His shoulders shake as he pushes himself up; it gives Ronan more room to breathe - whether he wants it or not - and it gives Declan more room to move. His hand slides down Ronan's side to his thigh, and the next time he rocks forward, he guides it up against his him.
It isn't long before the roll of his hips is quicker, sharper. Declan gets lost in the rhythm and drops his head, momentarily overwhelmed but the visceral need driving him on. His hands move again, one finding Ronan's to lace their fingers together, weight leaning into it to pin Ronan's hand to the bed. The other drifts between them to circle his brother's cock; he doesn't really stroke, just offers extra friction as they move together. Ronan is slick with precome and Declan is dizzy with the knowledge of his desire. Their mutual, taboo desire. And he can't help the words that fall out of his mouth:
"You feel so good." He's already breathless and he feels like he might choke on his pulse. "Jesus, Ronan, you feel good."
Edited (thumb hit touch pad oops) 2020-01-27 05:44 (UTC)
Does he? Ronan doesn’t know what that means, what sets him apart from any other person Declan has thrust himself into, why he is the one his brother chose for this.
He can feel Declan’s excitement building, though. He feels it through his whole body, quaking with every jerk of Declan’s hips. It’s not violent, but it’s increasingly reckless, like something that was hidden inside his brother is clawing its way out of him and in to Ronan. Or like there’s something inside Ronan and Declan is desperately chasing it, trying to force it out of him. It’s starting to feel like Declan wants to split right through him.
He’s feeling so much inside him that his legs have gone numb in comparison, an odd paralysis that’s turning him into little more than a vessel for Declan’s need. He leaves all of it in Declan’s control, lying beneath him and allowing his limbs to be repositioned however Declan pleases. Even the hand at his cock feels like it’s more for Declan’s benefit than his own. To ease the guilt, maybe. As long as Ronan stays hard, it means he likes it, and that means Declan can keep doing it.
Ronan realizes he’s making a sound - a gasping, whimpering sound - and he doesn’t know how long he’s been making it.
Ronan's voice echoes through his head. It doesn't sound like pain and Declan prays that it isn't.
Even in dreams, he can't last forever. Maybe especially not in one that feels nearly real. When Declan feels the sharp, delicious peak his mind goes blank. Does he push deep or pull out? Is one more damning than the other? Ronan has already swallowed him, maybe it makes no difference now. A wordless moan tears from him when he finally comes; he doesn't pull out. Instead he rides the rush of his momentum, the urgent insistence that he keep moving, keep doing something, until he has nothing left.
He stays where he is. Declan bows his head to touch his brow to Ronan's shoulder, eyes closed as relief and a different kind of tension war inside him. He lets go of Ronan's dick so he can touch his face, fingers surprisingly steady as they stroke down his cheek and his neck. Declan can't bring himself to open his eyes just yet. What if all he sees is reproach? Or something worse? He relaxes his grip on Ronan's hand, tries to shift his weight so he isn't pinning it down so completely.
All he can hear is their ragged breathing and the thud of someone's heart - his or Ronan's. Maybe both thundering away in time.
It isn’t pain. It’s excruciating pleasure. It’s the kind of heat that makes him feel like he’s committed every imaginable sin and fallen straight into Hell. Declan has thrown him into a wicked rapture and Ronan loses himself in it.
And then he bursts. Not Ronan, but Declan. He thrusts deep and Ronan feels the throbbing rush of his brother’s release filling him with seed. And Declan doesn’t stop. He keeps pumping and pumping, and Ronan feels the overflow spilling from him, and he wonders if this loop will just keep going. Will he wake now to find his brother licking him clean, only to dirty him again? And again? Has he only ever existed for this purpose?
Declan’s touch draws him back, tender hands caressing his face, reassuring and desperate for his reassurance in turn. It doesn’t surprise him when he finds that Declan can’t look at him now. He knew that’d be the price.
Ronan reaches for him, thumbs sliding along his jaw, fingers lacing at his nape. He lifts up just enough to brush a kiss to his brother’s lips. “Stay there,” Ronan tells him, with a shift of his hips to ensure Declan doesn’t try to pull out of him. “I don’t want you to go.”
But it isn't terribly long before Declan finds the courage to open his eyes. Ronan's hands and lips are gentle; Declan meets his brother's gaze.
"I'm not going anywhere," he murmurs. Declan brushes a kiss to the bridge of Ronan's nose, then his lips. "You have me."
He says it without reservation and with a tenderness he so very rarely expresses. The weight of Ronan's hands against the back of his neck is a comfort, but as he shifts his position, his attention is drawn back to his brother's cock still trapped between their bodies.
"What do you want?" he asks quietly, voice low and warm as he brushes a hand down Ronan's chest and stomach. He rubs his palm over the slick head of Ronan's erection, then strokes down the length.
Ronan shivers with that touch, a soft hiss rushing past his lips. What does he want? He wants it all. There's been no part of this he hasn't wanted so badly it feels like his body and soul are unraveling with it.
What he thinks Declan means is: Why haven't you come yet? And the answer to that is one he can't give, because speaking it will cast a judgment on Declan that he doesn't want to burden him with. The answer is that he doesn't want to be the kind of sinner who climaxes at his brother's touch, even if he is the kind of person who will let his brother take him over and over, in every way he pleases.
If Ronan gives in, all hope is lost. They'll never be able to resist this again. It will become what they do to each other, what they mean to each other.
"I..."
His hips rock slowly in pursuit of Declan's touch, and as he moves, he can feel the persistent fullness of his brother inside him. It draws a sigh out of him.
His eyebrows draw together and his hand stills. Even with every sigh and shift, every moan and tremble, Ronan will not ask for what Declan has taken. It hasn't been one-sided, has it? The little rock beneath him, Ronan moving between his hand and his cock--is he wicked for wanting to see Ronan satisfied?
He is wicked for wanting his brother at all.
"Ronan--" But he doesn't know what to say. How profane would it to tell him that he loves him? He brushes his fingers against Ronan's hair. This is so far from the detached fantasies they've played out before. This isn't Bali, it's Ronan's bed. This isn't effortless teasing and banter, this is--intimate.
I have everything I want.
What has he done? Why did he let the dream change? Why, why--
Don't overthink it.
Declan closes his eyes for a moment. The last thing he wants is for this to get dark, to invite anything truly nightmarish. So he takes a few breaths to settle his swirling anxieties as his thumb brushes along Ronan's temple.
"Don't," Ronan pleads quietly. Declan may be capable of hiding every single one of his feelings when it comes to the world outside, but between them, Ronan experiences it all. "Don't regret it now. I'm not going to be sorry I gave you what you wanted, so you shouldn't be sorry, either."
It changes nothing about the fact that this happened. No part of Declan's guilt can erase the urges that drove him to this. If Ronan is going to be the place where Declan takes these impulses, he can't also be the one to absolve him. That's asking the impossible.
He can see that Declan's going to keep beating himself up about it until he understands why his brother hasn't gotten the same satisfaction, though, so Ronan continues, "It's your wet dream. It always is. I've never come a single time, any time we've dreamt together, because I'm just a part of you right now. And usually you make a version of me who does what you want, but today you just asked for... me."
Does that make sense? It probably doesn't. No one ever really understands what it means to be one thing and at the same time everything.
"If you want me to really feel it, you'd have to make it happen out there."
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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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His breath catches and he lifts his head enough to see Ronan's face. He didn't realize he'd been waiting for something until it happens: Ronan moans and a rush of relief sweeps through him. Thank God. He strokes his fingers back through Ronan's hair. There's no going back now. He's done this - they've done this.
He adjusts his position and rocks his hips back just enough for a gentle thrust. Deep, slow. Testing. Then again, and again, never drawing back far. Not yet. But it feels good, every lazy slide in and then out again.
"Still okay?" he asks on a shivering breath. He's still holding back.
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He means to answer with a word, but the next thrust pushes a gasp out of him instead. He can feel Declan's pulse inside his body, making it impossible to ignore his presence, to think of anything else. In spite of Declan's restraint, Ronan feels like he's being rearranged every time his brother slides deep. He has no time to process the sensation before it's happening again, again, again.
He forces himself to hold Declan's gaze. If he can't pretend this isn't happening, then he has to understand everything that is. His older brother is fucking him. And the pressure that every thrust builds up in him is his own pleasure in answer to it. His older brother is fucking him, and he's enjoying it. He's enjoying it so much that it feels like his world would end if they stopped now.
So he begs, "Don't stop."
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It isn't long before the roll of his hips is quicker, sharper. Declan gets lost in the rhythm and drops his head, momentarily overwhelmed but the visceral need driving him on. His hands move again, one finding Ronan's to lace their fingers together, weight leaning into it to pin Ronan's hand to the bed. The other drifts between them to circle his brother's cock; he doesn't really stroke, just offers extra friction as they move together. Ronan is slick with precome and Declan is dizzy with the knowledge of his desire. Their mutual, taboo desire. And he can't help the words that fall out of his mouth:
"You feel so good." He's already breathless and he feels like he might choke on his pulse. "Jesus, Ronan, you feel good."
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He can feel Declan’s excitement building, though. He feels it through his whole body, quaking with every jerk of Declan’s hips. It’s not violent, but it’s increasingly reckless, like something that was hidden inside his brother is clawing its way out of him and in to Ronan. Or like there’s something inside Ronan and Declan is desperately chasing it, trying to force it out of him. It’s starting to feel like Declan wants to split right through him.
He’s feeling so much inside him that his legs have gone numb in comparison, an odd paralysis that’s turning him into little more than a vessel for Declan’s need. He leaves all of it in Declan’s control, lying beneath him and allowing his limbs to be repositioned however Declan pleases. Even the hand at his cock feels like it’s more for Declan’s benefit than his own. To ease the guilt, maybe. As long as Ronan stays hard, it means he likes it, and that means Declan can keep doing it.
Ronan realizes he’s making a sound - a gasping, whimpering sound - and he doesn’t know how long he’s been making it.
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Even in dreams, he can't last forever. Maybe especially not in one that feels nearly real. When Declan feels the sharp, delicious peak his mind goes blank. Does he push deep or pull out? Is one more damning than the other? Ronan has already swallowed him, maybe it makes no difference now. A wordless moan tears from him when he finally comes; he doesn't pull out. Instead he rides the rush of his momentum, the urgent insistence that he keep moving, keep doing something, until he has nothing left.
He stays where he is. Declan bows his head to touch his brow to Ronan's shoulder, eyes closed as relief and a different kind of tension war inside him. He lets go of Ronan's dick so he can touch his face, fingers surprisingly steady as they stroke down his cheek and his neck. Declan can't bring himself to open his eyes just yet. What if all he sees is reproach? Or something worse? He relaxes his grip on Ronan's hand, tries to shift his weight so he isn't pinning it down so completely.
All he can hear is their ragged breathing and the thud of someone's heart - his or Ronan's. Maybe both thundering away in time.
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And then he bursts. Not Ronan, but Declan. He thrusts deep and Ronan feels the throbbing rush of his brother’s release filling him with seed. And Declan doesn’t stop. He keeps pumping and pumping, and Ronan feels the overflow spilling from him, and he wonders if this loop will just keep going. Will he wake now to find his brother licking him clean, only to dirty him again? And again? Has he only ever existed for this purpose?
Declan’s touch draws him back, tender hands caressing his face, reassuring and desperate for his reassurance in turn. It doesn’t surprise him when he finds that Declan can’t look at him now. He knew that’d be the price.
Ronan reaches for him, thumbs sliding along his jaw, fingers lacing at his nape. He lifts up just enough to brush a kiss to his brother’s lips. “Stay there,” Ronan tells him, with a shift of his hips to ensure Declan doesn’t try to pull out of him. “I don’t want you to go.”
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"I'm not going anywhere," he murmurs. Declan brushes a kiss to the bridge of Ronan's nose, then his lips. "You have me."
He says it without reservation and with a tenderness he so very rarely expresses. The weight of Ronan's hands against the back of his neck is a comfort, but as he shifts his position, his attention is drawn back to his brother's cock still trapped between their bodies.
"What do you want?" he asks quietly, voice low and warm as he brushes a hand down Ronan's chest and stomach. He rubs his palm over the slick head of Ronan's erection, then strokes down the length.
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What he thinks Declan means is: Why haven't you come yet? And the answer to that is one he can't give, because speaking it will cast a judgment on Declan that he doesn't want to burden him with. The answer is that he doesn't want to be the kind of sinner who climaxes at his brother's touch, even if he is the kind of person who will let his brother take him over and over, in every way he pleases.
If Ronan gives in, all hope is lost. They'll never be able to resist this again. It will become what they do to each other, what they mean to each other.
"I..."
His hips rock slowly in pursuit of Declan's touch, and as he moves, he can feel the persistent fullness of his brother inside him. It draws a sigh out of him.
"I have everything I want."
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He is wicked for wanting his brother at all.
"Ronan--" But he doesn't know what to say. How profane would it to tell him that he loves him? He brushes his fingers against Ronan's hair. This is so far from the detached fantasies they've played out before. This isn't Bali, it's Ronan's bed. This isn't effortless teasing and banter, this is--intimate.
I have everything I want.
What has he done? Why did he let the dream change? Why, why--
Don't overthink it.
Declan closes his eyes for a moment. The last thing he wants is for this to get dark, to invite anything truly nightmarish. So he takes a few breaths to settle his swirling anxieties as his thumb brushes along Ronan's temple.
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It changes nothing about the fact that this happened. No part of Declan's guilt can erase the urges that drove him to this. If Ronan is going to be the place where Declan takes these impulses, he can't also be the one to absolve him. That's asking the impossible.
He can see that Declan's going to keep beating himself up about it until he understands why his brother hasn't gotten the same satisfaction, though, so Ronan continues, "It's your wet dream. It always is. I've never come a single time, any time we've dreamt together, because I'm just a part of you right now. And usually you make a version of me who does what you want, but today you just asked for... me."
Does that make sense? It probably doesn't. No one ever really understands what it means to be one thing and at the same time everything.
"If you want me to really feel it, you'd have to make it happen out there."
Out of the question, no doubt.
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