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Adam wakes not to the sound of his alarm or birds chirping, but to the sound of organ music beneath him. It’s Sunday. Church day. Blearily, he rubs his eyes and sits up on his mattress, which is the moment he notices a cup of raspberries lying on the floor. The lid is askew.
He curses and swipes it up, shovelling the small fruits quickly into his mouth. He doesn’t even bother to check for any mould that might’ve popped up overnight (with the temperature and atmosphere of his little apartment, it isn’t out of the question), but it seems alright and overall it’s not the worst breakfast he’s ever had. More than alright, in fact, if you take into account the memory of Ronan’s tongue on his skin.
Ronan. Ronan, who is presently beneath his floor boards, seated beside his brothers in a pew just like they had been the night before was somehow also Ronan, the boy who left because he couldn’t trust himself around an exhausted-to-his-core Adam. Adam shakes his head. He doesn’t have work today, but he has a good chunk of Chemistry and Latin homework to get in and there wasn’t the space for any extra wondering.
An hour of dull pencil scrawl and a short series of intrusive thoughts later, Adam knows that the service is over. He pictures Ronan hovering by the stairs, hesitance in the rigid set of his shoulders. No, Adam won’t wait. He’ll be the proactive one today, the one who goes seeking.
Tenderly, he ambles down the stairs and finds himself looking into the crowd of church goers. Heads bob, smiling as they interact with one another. None of them are the one he is seeking.
“He’s lingering inside,” comes a voice beside him. He startles – only a little, as he’s gotten more used to his half-deafness at this point – to see Matthew smiling beside him. “Are you coming to lunch with us?”
“Uhh…I don’t think so. I just wanted to say hi to Ronan.”
“Maybe you can help him out of his rotten mood,” Matthew says, grin widening. He lowers his voice conspiratorially, then, “you might be our last hope.”
Adam laughs, and it’s only a little uncomfortable. “I’m not a miracle worker, but I’ll see what I can do.”
He ducks once more into the room, into the aisles of pews, spotting the back of Ronan’s head immediately. It helps that it’s the only head to spot at all, but even so. Even if the room were full, Adam doubts it would take him long. He’s always been told that he’s a quick study, and Ronan has (somehow, inexplicably) become one of his favourite subjects.
“Lynch.” He perches in the pew behind Ronan. He watches as Ronan bows his head further, hands clasped together. Struck with the feeling that he’s intruding on a silent conversation, he presses his lips together.
“Shut up, Parrish, I’m listening to God’s songs.”
“I believe I said lullabies,” Adam offers.
Ronan huffs out a breath. “It’s hard to believe you remember anything at all. A warning would be nice the next time your brain is fried.”
“What, like an ad? 2.99 special, get your freshly fried brain?” Adam smirks. “I think you might be the zombie.”
“Hilarious.”
“I’m sorry,” Adam says. He pauses. “Not for the joke. For last night. For scaring you-”
“Wasn’t fucking scared.”
Adam thinks it’s in his best interest to ignore this. “And then submitting you to watching over my exhausted self and…”
“Do go on, Parrish.”
Adam shelves an eye roll for later and takes a deep breath. “And. I’m sorry for putting you in a position where you felt…uncomfortable.”
There’s a silence, now. It’s that kind of heavy silence which feels different in the pews in the daytime than in the dark of night.
He adds, “If I said or did anything you didn’t like.”
Ronan raises his head quickly at this, and Adam’s lungs inflate in victory. Finally, a reaction. He watches Ronan’s jaw work, like it’s holding some words but it’s not sure how to craft them together in a response.
“That’s what you think?” is what he says.
Adam’s heart is a bustling tool box once more. He bites his lip. “I think I need it laid out for me clearly.” He smiles, too, small and soft, even though Ronan can’t see him. “I learn best that way.”
“Nerd,” Ronan murmurs, but it’s fond and Adam can see the small mirroring smile tugging at his cheek. Just as the corner of Ronan’s mouth is opening to continue, though, there’s a bustle of foot steps behind them.
“Aren’t y’all hungry?” It’s Matthew, of course. “’Cause I sure am. Time for chicken strips, c’mon! Up and at ‘em, Sunday Club!”
Ronan sighs heavily. “Are there no sacred places left?” He protests, dramatically and obviously for Matthew’s benefit, as there’s a burst of giggles behind them.
When Ronan turns his face, Adam takes in the full landscape of his features. Said face is washed in bright sunlight, cut up by mosaic colour, and Adam looks to Matthew too, afraid he won’t be able to stop looking unless he does so immediately.
“I hereby dub Adam an honorary member of The Sunday Club,” Matthew declares seriously. “He is invited by the president for the courtly procession of The Foods.”
Adam can practically hear Ronan smirking. “Guess you’re coming along, Parrish.”
“The Sunday Club?” Adam asks, as they weave their way out of St. Agnes and into the open air of spring. (He figured he couldn’t really say no once Matthew proclaimed his attendance).
Declan is the one who answers, appearing by the car. The eldest Lynch shakes his head. “It’s a new method to reduce familial conflict, I believe.” He nods at Adam in greeting. “Parrish. Good to see you.”
“HECK YEAH, TEAMWORK!” Matthew cries and climbs his way into the back seat.
Adam watches the silent power struggle for the keys, secretly impressed by the fact alone of the silence. Ultimately, he ends up in the passenger seat next to Declan, who turns the ignition and has them promptly on the road.
Not long after, they end up standing in the middle of a circle of food trucks. They’re in a park he can’t recall if he’s ever step foot in, but one which appears to be a traditional Lynch environment.
“The third rule of Sunday Club,” Matthew is saying when Adam tunes in, “is we never eat from the same food truck as last week.”
Ronan ruffles Matthew’s hair. “You didn’t mention the first two, Matty. Parrish’s brain can’t handle it when things are unclear.”
Adam kicks Ronan in the shin. “Don’t worry, Matthew, it’s only Ronan that’s unclear.”
Declan hums at this from behind them and Adam wonders if he’s now being too clear, absolutely undoubtedly transparent, and that Declan can see through this subtext like glass. Nevertheless, he says nothing, disappearing as a food trucker worker shouts out their number.
“No kicking should probably also be a rule,” is all Matthew has to say before he’s pulling a tiny bottle out of his pocket and proceeding to blow bubbles from it, as if it were in fact a perfectly normal occurrence.
“Sunday Club is the epitome of fun,” Ronan deadpans. And the tableau of the Lynch brothers is suddenly altogether far too much: Matthew blowing bubbles in squiggly lines across the sky, Ronan with his arms crossed over his chest and his tie twisted over his shoulder, a curve of distaste on his mouth, Declan slowly walking back towards them juggling four paper baskets filled with chicken strips. Adam can’t help but double over in laughter.
“Adam agreeeees!” Matthew sing-songs, missing the point entirely and Adam is clutching his stomach with the ridiculousness of it. He can’t recall the last time he laughed like this.
He mostly pulls himself together when Declan holds out a basket of chicken for him. At once, he’s pulling bills out from his wallet and tucking them into Declan’s shirt pocket before anyone can protest. When he’s pulling away, he catches Ronan’s eyes.
They’re wide and surprised and gloriously pleased. (Probably more in response to Adam’s joy than Adam paying Declan back for food, but that’s not the point).
Finally, Adam says, “I do agree.” And he watches as Matthew smiles at him, as Declan’s eyes look a little brighter, as Ronan’s whole sharp-soft self glows a bit more than before.
Practically immediately after they found a picnic table and finished off their meal, Matthew winks at Adam and says, “Time for dessert, I think.”
Declan sighs and Ronan rolls his eyes but Adam assumes this is just per the regular Sunday Club schedule.
“Fresh fruit time, Adam!” and he’s off like a rocket to some other food truck.
Matthew’s back just as quickly, setting a bowl in the middle of the table and he’s… brought raspberries. Because of course it’s raspberries. All that’s in Adam’s stomach is raspberry and chicken strip and, unshakeably, the phantom sensations of everywhere Ronan and Adam happened to make physical contact the night before.
Speaking of contact. Adam’s eyes slip from the bowl to where Ronan sits across from him. Even with the actual sun in his eyes, Ronan is somehow more filled with starlight. He’s smirking again, but it’s gentler.
“Adam,” Matthew cuts in, “can you give me a vibe check on these?”
Adam isn’t altogether sure what that means but he picks up a raspberry and tastes it. “Delicious?” he tries. He sees sun-haloed Ronan again and amends, “maybe not as good as the ones I had at home yesterday. But still delicious.”
Matthew nods, resolute, and turns to his brother. “Ronan?”
Shaking his head, Ronan picks at the leather bracelets, still there tucked under his Sunday-best sleeves. “I prefer my raspberries with a side of flesh.”
“You made it gross, Ronan,” Matthew says, laughing.
“Could you attempt to be more mature?” Declan adds.
Adam just blushes fiercely, not even capable of attempting another zombie joke at this point.
Carefully, Ronan plucks a raspberry from the pile and places it in his mouth. Adam watches with only minor distress (which he thinks is an accomplishment, honestly) as Ronan purposefully – it must be purposefully – rolls the fruit over in his mouth. Tucked in Ronan’s cheek, Adam can see right where it sits, and for the second time in 24 hours he can’t help but think that it’s obscene. If he were ever to become a lawyer, he thinks he would make it illegal for Ronan Lynch to eat fruit like that ever again. At least, in cases when Adam couldn’t for the life of him do anything about it.
When they’re done with the heat stroke called ‘dessert’, Matthew informs Adam of Sunday Club rule number four. Or was it five? Adam’s not sure.
“Now, we take a walk through the trails!” is what he says exactly.
Where they end up is a pathway through a wooded area. Once more, the Lynch’s familiarity is palpable. Adam notices as Matthew tenderly pats trees and greets a small ant hill with a “Howdy.”
He notices how Declan neatly avoids a tree root jutting out of the path without even looking down.
Most of all, Adam notices how Ronan occasionally closes his eyes. Just for a moment, as if he can hear the trees here too, whispering in his ears. Adam supposes that could be true. When he attempts to reach out in his mind like he does in Cabeswater, however, he feels no tendrils of recognition or welcoming. Instead, he feels the mundane kind of forest magic that settles when you’re reminded about the aliveness of all things.
Matthew ambles to the right when they reach a fork in the path and then they’re on a short rocky cliff overlooking a river. The youngest Lynch places his hand on a tree quite close to the edge, then sits down on a patch of dried leaves. The other brothers stay back, and Adam is spiked with intrigue.
He hasn’t spent heaps of time with Matthew in his life, it’s true, but he’s seen enough to know that his default state is high energy, high volume, high enthusiasm.
The Matthew he’s seeing now is still and quiet. It’s not unlike the stillness of Ronan in the church pew, and he wonders if this is Matthew’s own primary place of worship.
“Here we go again,” Ronan huffs under his breath. Adam hears Declan say, “Every time on the dot,” but Adam’s already moving towards where Matthew is perched.
He sits beside him and glances at his face. Matthew’s eyes are closed. His forehead is free of wrinkles. His mouth is set in a straight line, but it’s calm and at ease.
A shiver goes through Adam. The image is not unlike the cow at The Barns that time, when Adam had pressed his hand to her face and felt her pulse, hardly there and then speeding up just so. He thinks of Ronan’s confession, then. Matthew, a dream. How he’d only found out on a Sunday just like this one, from a Declan similar to the one who stood behind them now.
Unknowable, his brain supplies. Unreal. Unimaginable wonder.
“This is my favourite place,” Matthew says more softly than Adam’s ever heard him say anything. It’s almost too quiet to hear under the chirp of the birds and the jostling of tree leaves in the wind. It’s almost too gentle under the crunching leaves in the distance, dead sticks pummelled under the feet of other Sunday hikers.
Unknowable. Unreal. Unimaginable. It’s possible. It’s possible that it’s not only him.
“You look at peace here,” Adam says. Like this is a safe place for you, he wants to add. Like you belong. And it isn’t just observation, because Adam knows viscerally in his chest what it’s like. To belong to a forest, that is. To feel at peace in a place he had given his eyes and his hands. He knows how otherworldly it can look from the outside. How otherworldly it can feel from the inside, and yet somehow such a comfort.
Matthew smiles and it’s close-lipped. “They don’t really get it.”
Adam assumes he’s referring to his older brothers, but he supposes he may be talking about the whole world. He hums in response.
Matthew’s eyes open, looking ahead at the breaking babble of the waters below. “You get it, though, Adam.”
He takes a shaky breath. “I think so,” Adam whispers.
Matthew nods once and then his eyes are glossed over again with the intense focus of the water rushing and the swoop of crows cawing. Adam lets the sound wash over him. He relaxes his shoulders. The state of being that they’re inhabiting here, together, is not unlike scrying.
“Are you…still here, when you look out there?” He says.
Matthew swallows. “It’s kind of like I’m everywhere at once and nowhere at all.”
“Everywhere and nowhere,” he echoes.
“Today I feel a little more,” Matthew pauses, seeking the word, “grounded, though. I think because you’re here.”
Adam’s not sure he’s ever been called grounding before.
“I think you bring out those good things in people,” Adam says before he can stop himself. He’s aware once more of the older Lynch brothers lingering behind them, having their own whispered conversation or argument no doubt. He thinks about Sunday Club and how it’s a deliberate means of bringing the Lynch family all together. He thinks about how he only ever sees Declan and Ronan connect in meaningful ways – without fists, that is – when Matthew is present, too. He’s not sure who they’d be without Matthew, actually, or how today might’ve gone if Matthew hadn’t been along.
“I’m glad you exist,” Adam whispers. He wonders if that’s too much. Too much like ‘I’m glad Ronan created you,’ or ‘I’m glad you’re part of him and he’s a part of you,’ one step too close to spilling a secret that isn’t anywhere close to his own to spill.
But Matthew only says, “You too, pal.” And a transition is made seamlessly back into high-energy, high-enthusiasm Golden Boy, revved up once more and bustling back through the woods to the car.
When they’re back in the parking lot, Ronan’s eyes catch Adam’s so full of questions but also a dash of that subtle fondness that clenches Adam’s heart.
Ronan pulls Matthew into a half hug before they reach the car and the clench of his heart becomes tighter, a magician’s box constricting smaller and smaller.
It must be insane of him, right? To want this? Of course, it could never be just Ronan, just touch, just this little thing on the side. Not with Ronan who is all-in, all-encompassing. If anything at all was to happen between them, all of Ronan was to happen to him. That meant this ridiculous and grieving and broken but loving family that made Adam laugh as loud as he could laugh and then settle into a deep state of quiet all in the same morning. Maybe it is insane, but what he wants is to be a real part of it. Could he? Could he fit, here?
This time, both Adam and Ronan take the back seat of the car. When Declan meets Adam’s eyes in the rear view mirror, he isn’t sure what to expect.
“Parrish, I was wondering if you were familiar with Mrs. Quinn?”
“The Earth Sciences teacher?” Adam says. “I’ve taken a few of her classes, yes. I really enjoy them.” He doesn’t add that she’s probably the kindest one out of all of them to him, especially back when he’d show up with bruising on the regular.
Declan smiles, and they go on to talk about professors and potential colleges and prospective careers and Adam is surprised too to find he doesn’t mind this Declan at all. This Declan who lets the cagey exterior fall for his family, who can be a dick but the motivation is more often than not a deep care for his brothers.
Adam feels Ronan’s shoe tap against his own and then settle shyly there, just touching at the toe tips.
His own voice reverberates in his head. ‘What is it you want, darlin’?’ Is it also insane to believe that Ronan could want what he wants? Each time he’s struck with certainty about Ronan’s feelings, he is met with another lull in which he has to wonder how it could be true. Adam Parrish certainly didn’t get this far in life without being harshly critical about other people’s intentions towards him. So it’s fair, he thinks, to settle into the question. Not just whether he is worthy of being a crush, but worthy of being someone’s partner. Someone’s actual… family.
Declan pulls back into the church and they each file out of the car. The church looks different now, after this morning.
Matthew snaps his fingers. “Ah, rats, I forgot that I left my crocs in here to change into! Could’ve had them on so much sooner.”
He hauls a ghastly yellowish-green pair of crocs out of the trunk and exchanges his dress shoes for them. Adam thinks he can see a little rubber raven slotted into one of the holes and barely suppresses a snort.
“Is that entirely necessary?” Declan says.
Ronan groans. “Matty, you know those are atrocious.”
Matthew just laughs uproariously, staring down at his shoes with mock-fright. “Where’d they come from? What do they want from us!?”
“Should’ve burned those while we had the chance.” Ronan makes a tsk-tsk noise.
“They sure have a lotta personality,” Adam puts in. Matthew glows at this and rewards him with a double high five. Adam isn’t sure his comment deserves this, but he doesn’t complain.
Declan clears his throat, then, and steps forward to shake Adam’s hand, which reminds Adam of Gansey in a way. “It was nice to have you along, today, Parrish.”
Soon enough, the eldest and youngest Lynch are packed back into the car and it’s just Ronan and Adam lingering in the parking lot.
Ronan fidgets with his bracelets. “Have you finished seducing my family, Parrish?”
“I’m not sure,” Adam smiles. “Guess that depends on how well I did.”
Ronan scoffs, looking up at the cross on top of the church. “I think you overdid it.”
“Did I?”
“No, loser, I’ll bet they’re gushing in the car now about how great you are.”
“You’re lucky to have them,” Adam confesses. He pauses and then adds, “They’re lucky to have you, too.”
“Trying to seduce me now, too, Parrish?”
His heart stammers. Is it time, now? Are they actually going to put into syllables this thing they’ve been dancing around for months? He’s honestly not sure what version of yes to say: Is it working? Thanks for finally noticing? Do you believe me, now?
Ronan’s smirk settles into an actual smile but then he’s turning away and saying, “Race you to the shed?” before Adam even has a chance to address the last question.
The shed in question is a tiny supply shed, dilapidated and half-rotting, which sits behind the church.
Adam raises his eyebrow. “Alright, you’re on.”
As soon as he’s agreed, Ronan is bolting and Adam feels his limbs transform into lines of adrenaline in the attempt to catch up.
When they reach the shed, panting, Ronan still doesn’t seem satisfied, despite having reached it first (the cheater). He says, “Pull out your bike.”
Adam frowns. He pulls it out, hand on the warm seat, having altogether no idea what’s happening.
“Up for a ride?” Ronan asks. And now it feels like Adam’s the one being seduced. Surely there was no sexier way to ask someone if they wanted to get on a bicycle?
“What about you, then? Where’s your…ride?”
“You’re my ride, Parrish.” And. Okay. That’s a sexier way.
Through his blush, Adam says, “What, on the handlebars?”
“Nah, I’ll stand on the back,” Ronan says, in reference to a small metal peg Ronan himself had hooked up weeks before.
For a series of moments Adam’s consciousness is flooded with the wish that this bike was actually a motor bike, that Ronan didn’t have to stand on the back but could sit directly behind him with his arms around him and-
Adam coughs. “Okay, then.”
Where last night all annoyance could be accounted for by the fact that he couldn’t fall asleep, couldn’t dream, now it seems as though he’s stuck inside a dream. A dream maniacally set on frustrating him as intensely as possible.
Adam gets on the bike and feels Ronan step on the bar on the back, feels warm hands clasp at his shoulders. He closes his eyes for a moment and then Ronan’s lips are brushing his ear.
“Green light, Parrish,” he says.
Adam meant to ask where they were going, really, but there was no hope for that now. Instead, he just pedals. He pedals out of the parking lot, off the sidewalk, into the bike lane. The wind is incredible, cool and searing his skin, and he takes great gulps of it. At his shoulders, Ronan’s nails press into skin, searing him further. He doesn’t mind it at all.
He makes a sharp turn for a bike trail and Ronan whoops behind him. More accurately the sound is like the low and heady howl of a wolf, and it goes straight to the pit of Adam’s stomach.
As maple and oak leaves tickle his arms, he realizes the route that he’s unconsciously taken. He’s heading in the direction of The Barns. As if it’s natural, somehow, in his body, to bring this boy back home. Like this was something he always did, driving him back on this rickety bike always one ride away from complete disrepair.
Maybe it’s just that Adam wants to see the place again, to feel the magic of the soil soak into his feet. Gravel roils in the tires and he hears Ronan start to hum a tune. It’s sweet and soft weaving into the wind, something so wholly not Murder Squash that Adam can’t help but smile.
Then Ronan’s mouth is on Adam’s ear again and breathing is made difficult. “Taking us home, Parrish?”
He’s sure the us next to the home must be a slip of the tongue but it sounds even better than the gentle humming and he’s pedalling faster now.
Before he knows it, he’s guiding his tires onto grassy field and turning down a trail on The Barns property he hadn’t even noticed the last time he was here. The sensation is all the pressure of pedalling, pedalling, pedalling, the gusts of wind, wind, wind, the linger of Ronan’s hands and lips and his whole energy. He feels it settle like pollen on him and he’s not sure it will ever scrub off. He’s not sure he wants it to.
He sees now that they’re in a grove. Above them are varying trees of all kinds, heavy with plump and colourful fruits and he knows this must be a dreamed place.
Adam feels one hand lift off his shoulder. He hears the sound of a stem plucked off a dangling branch, one of the many dangling branches cutting the sky into its own mosaic shards. Afternoon sunlight breaks through the cracks and Adam’s body glows warm. It seems there is no place a Lynch cannot make into a place of worship.
“Get ready to hop off!” Adam calls.
He parks them next to a little stream, abandoning the bike to fall down in the dirt once they’ve both made a safe descent.
When he turns, he sees that Ronan has an orange in his palms and that he’s already peeled it. He drops the spiral onto the grass, kicking it away.
Slowly, Adam approaches him. Ronan places a slice in his mouth and then hands a neighbouring piece to Adam. There’s something tender in that offering, Adam knows. But he feels restless as they eat in silence, Ronan glancing around at the leaves and diverse array of hanging fruit. He passes Adam every other piece, carefully and deliberately, until they’ve finished off the whole thing.
The adrenaline still hasn’t left Adam’s body since their race to the shed and that already, somehow, feels like days ago. The energy is aching for somewhere to go.
While Ronan’s head is tilted the other way, Adam crouches down in the stream. He fills his hands with water and then arches his arms towards the other boy, splashing him.
Ronan’s grin is wolfish. “Oh you’re dead, Parrish.”
Quickly, they’re both shin deep in the water, getting more and more drenched the longer their battle goes on. Their laughter echoes through the grove fantastically, musically, like the bark is an instrument that had been waiting eagerly for inspiration from the two of them.
“In a garden with Adam,” Ronan muses pointedly, sending a wave into Adam’s side. “Now where have I heard that one before?”
Adam bites the inside of his cheek. He flicks the surface of the stream into Ronan’s shirt and says, “Does that make you Eve?”
Ronan licks his bottom lip slowly. Adam, following the movement with his eyes, can’t help but be caught off guard. He loses his footing on a stone and he’s falling, falling, falling. Until, he’s not. Ronan’s hands steady him around his waist, pulling him back up to standing so swiftly he shivers.
Adam blinks and then Ronan’s pulling back so immediately, so briskly, that Adam feels his stomach plummet. A growl all but rises in his throat.
“Are you trying to kill me?”
Ronan looks genuinely taken aback. It would almost be funny if it weren’t so aggravating. “The fuck, Parrish, I just saved your ass. You started it, anyways.”
“Ronan.” He steps closer, steps and steps and steps until they’re onto the grass again. Until he backs Ronan right up against a tree. “Ronan. I’m awake. I’m well rested. My brain isn’t fried in the slightest.”
Ronan smirks but it’s wobbly. “Are you sure about that?”
“Is this pay back?”
Ronan blinks, nearly flinches. “What?”
“For last night?”
“I- are we fighting, Parrish?”
Adam releases a sharp exhale. “Oh my god, Lynch, are you trying to tease me into madness?”
Ronan’s eyes close. His lips are softly parted.
Adam continues. “Maybe it’s me who needs to spell it out and be clear?” He brushes his hand lightly over Ronan’s stomach. “Or have I already gone mad and I’m reading this so completely wrong, making an ass of myself?” He says this last part more softly.
When he removes his hand, he hears Ronan’s rough exhale. It sounds like the slightest of whines.
“I don’t think I’m wrong,” Adam says, gently but firmly. He can feel the heavy sogginess of his clothes, suddenly. A small shiver breaks through Ronan, who still has his eyes closed.
Adam takes another step closer and he can feel the radiation of Ronan’s body trying to make heat. They’re mere wisps away from touching.
“Look at me, Ronan.” He pauses. “Please.”
Ronan’s eyes open. His pupils are a mile wide. “Adam,” he whispers. “Are you-”
“If you ask me if I’m sure, I-” Adam gives a minute shake of his head. He redirects his energy to place his hands on Ronan’s jaw. “Just. Kiss me, you absolute fool.”
Finally, by some miracle or other, Ronan places his hands back on Adam’s hips. He breathes a “Yes,” and then closes the tiny gap left between them. Finally. Finally.
It’s reverent. Devotional. One peck and then another and then another and it’s heavy with stream water and then it’s soft pressure, solid lip moving against lip.
Adam gasps when he feels the press of tongue against his. The taste is orange and raspberry and the hint of sweet and sour sauce from hours ago. It’s something else he would bottle up if he could in order to return to it again and again. Who would have thought one could get so drunk off the sensory experience of another human? The sounds they make, the taste of them, the whole bundle of it.
Adam pulls away to nose at Ronan’s neck, pressing a kiss right where he finds Ronan’s pulse.
Ronan’s fingers scratch lightly at his back as he does so, arching against the tree that is probably their only chance of staying upright.
Adam kisses up Ronan’s neck until he lands back at lips. And they’re still soaked in stream water but Adam feels like he’s burning, like he’s one breath away from cardiac arrest – no. No, that’s not right. It’s like he’s had a defibrillator on his chest and suddenly his heart is back to beating. Like he’s woken up. Like he’s being burned into aliveness. He entwines his arms entirely around Ronan’s shoulders and he knows that this is it. This is what they were building up to all this time. Maybe it was worth all the circling, all the waiting, simply for this moment to exist.
“Say it again,” Ronan breathes.
Adam says, “You fool.”
Ronan laughs. “Fuck off.” But then, softer, “What you called me last night.”
“What? Oh,” Adam rubs Ronan’s jaw, achingly slow. “You mean darling?”
Ronan nods against his fingers.
“Darlin’,” he whispers right against Ronan’s ear.
Ronan shivers beautifully at that, unravelling right in front of Adam’s eyes.
Moving on whim once more, Adam grabs Ronan’s hands and intertwines their fingers. He holds Ronan’s up against the bark of the tree.
“Do you have any idea,” Ronan says, eyes fiery, “how fucking crazy you make me?”
“I have a lot of ideas,” Adam smirks. The incredible thing is that many of those ideas for the past twenty four hours have been somewhere along the lines of:
Maybe I deserve this.
Maybe this time I can have something I want.
Maybe this time I can be worthy of something good.
Maybe I’m capable of something like-
“Love your ideas,” Ronan says, incoherently, arching to lean up into Adam’s lips once more.
Adam smiles, loses himself in the kiss. Yes. He’s not sure, but maybe. When he pulls back, he says, “So now you wanna be my Eve?”
Ronan maintains Adam’s eye contact and it’s locked and serious and all fire once more. He holds him at his waist. “I think we can do better than those assholes,” he says.
“Yeah? Regular Adam’s good enough for you?” He says it teasingly but there’s a searing hint of truth there, of hell-fire fear licking up his hips where Ronan is touching him.
“There is no regular Adam, but yes, you’re miles out of my fucking league, Parrish,” Ronan says. “Thought you were good at math.”
Adam exhales, still a bit shaky. He fixes his gaze on an orange felled on the ground past Ronan’s shoulder.
“It’s,” Ronan takes a breath, restarts. “You know it’s more than just…want. Right?”
Ordinarily, this sentence would probably mean nothing. It’d be worth the same as a false promise. The thing is, Adam has been living this sentence all day. Of course want is a part of it. In Adam’s books, want is seamless to identify, seamless to feel. It’s comfortable and familiar and ever-present.
But there is something else. There is something else in Adam’s movements, and Ronan’s movements, and in the interactions between them and even the other Lynch brothers too. Something that rhymes with I care about you. With I think we could belong well, together. With, just maybe, I choose you as kin.
“I know,” Adam whispers. “It’s…you know it’s the same, for me?”
Ronan closes his eyes again. He nods, slowly.
“It might take a while for it all to fully…sink in,” Adam says.
Ronan cups Adam’s cheek. “We can take as long as we damn well please.”
Ronan’s learning in again and their lips move together in symphony sync and Adam feels it in his bones that it’s true. There’s a future, blessedly, for them. Even if it’s uncertain and there are plenty more bumps and arguments and hurts to come. Even so. He’s quite certain this all translates simply to: now, we’re a couple, you and I. It might’ve taken a while, but look, ahead of us we have so much time.
As Adam curls his fingers into Ronan’s shirt collar, he trades out his earlier plea to god (or the universe, or Cabeswater, or magic, or life, or whatever at all is listening) for an expression of gratitude.
Thank you. He kisses Ronan’s nose.
Thank you. He kisses Ronan’s cheek.
Thank you. He kisses Ronan’s forehead.
Thank you.