hadriel_logs | The Killing Game

Entry tags:

The Killing Game

Who: The Raven crew: Gansey, Blue, Adam, Ronan and Noah
What: Blue targets Gansey during the Assassin event
Where: The Raven House.
When: During Rage's Assassin event
Warnings: Attempted murder, the full list of swear words known by Ronan Lynch, teenage angst.

[ As far as Gansey knows, it's an ordinary morning in their house. He's yet to venture outside, and hasn't seen any of his friends emerge from their rooms. Given that his own is the living room these days, and also given that he struggles to sleep most nights, he typically finds himself wandering around alone in the mornings. This isn't a place with a great prevalence of cereal boxes, and his beloved car is still at home, so his usual methods of distracting a wakeful mind are unavailable.

That's why, on this particular morning, his friends will arrive to discover Gansey has built some approximation of the Eiffel Tower out of a range of the house's cutlery. There may have been one or two minor crashes, when his efforts collapsed on him, but really, that should just make everyone glad that he didn't decide to use the plates. This is a lot harder than it looks. He's in the kitchen, minding his own business, and setting this monstrosity up on one of the counters. There's also some indeterminate can of something being warmed in the microwave; let no one say he never attempts to cook for his friends.

Oblivious to what's started to happen around the city, Gansey goes innocently about his model building, and waits for the first of them to wake up. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[He's relieved to find Ronan there. Adam didn't really think he'd be anywhere else, but there was always the chance he'd run off despite everything, off to hurt someone or get hurt himself. And while some part of Adam is deeply affected by Ronan's willingness to fight for him, that desire to protect him that no one's ever shown before, the practical side of him can only be relieved that Ronan is here, that they talked him down. He doesn't want Ronan to get hurt again, and with one arm already broken he isn't exactly in the best shape to play avenging knight, as much as Adam finds the idea upsettingly endearing.

And Ronan is still Ronan. He's outside the Blue-Gansey issue just like Adam is, running damage control in his own way. It means that for a little while Adam doesn't have to worry about that minefield. He can just be with Ronan, and somewhere along the way that became more of a comfort than nearly anything else.]

Hey. I could use your help.

[He holds out gauze, tape, extra bandage.]

I can't reach to replace it myself. It's not dirty or anything - you don't have to do anything but change the bandage.

[Ronan takes the tape from him, all at once a little unsure, but he nods anyway and stands aside to let Adam in. How many times has Adam stitched him up? Changed his own bandages? Even now, with his arm still in a cast, how many times has Adam asked if he was doing alright with it, has helped him adjust with it? It's absolutely fair that he ask Ronan to change his bandages as well, just this once, when he can't do it- but Ronan is suddenly not sure that he's up for the task.

He's gotten the supplies for the clinic since its inception, but he's never attended a first aid class. He's wound up in the hospital back home multiple times for various stupid injuries, but he's never actually paid attention to how they stitched him up. He's changed bandages before, of course, but maybe this is different.

Ronan guides Adam back to his bed- it's the biggest surface in his room, and the only one not covered in knickknacks and baubles. There's an ineffective windchime in the corner made of barbed wire and what looks like bits of animal bone, there's an array of zippo lighters dumped on the floor, some of them squat and square and some of them curling, ornate devices, there's a painting leaning against the desk of an empty pictureframe up on a stark wall. Dozens of things, cluttering up the place, and so Ronan sits on the bed with the gauze and the tape, crossing his legs in front of him.]

You're gonna have to walk me through this.

[He's used to the impossible dreams that clutter Ronan's room, or as used to them as anyone can be. That just means he doesn't let himself get easily distracted by a shimmer of something that might be glowing, the careful carved curves of the lighters, the almost-sculptures filling the room. He could look for hours, but he doesn't, instead carefully settling on Ronan's bed.

He's been here before, but it feels different now. Now that he knows how Ronan's body feels pressed against his, now that he's lost count of the times they've kissed. But Adam pushes the thought of that aside, as distracting as it is. He did come here for a reason, not for a booty call.]

It won't be hard.

[Then he hesitates, just for a moment, but it's not like he has any other choice. A second later, Adam is pulling his shirt off, the fabric stretchy enough that he can take hold of the hem and pull it over his head with his good arm. He doesn't need help with that, at least. That would have been too much, asking Ronan to undress him.

He tries not to think about it, about whether Ronan has ever seen him with his shirt off before. There was that time in Harborview, he remembers, but Ronan was pretty out of it. This is much more real. He's embarrassed, a little - he eats okay here, but he's still skinny, all ribs and thin wrists and dusty skin speckled with freckles and, here and there, faded scars. Maybe Ronan won't look that close, except part of Adam wants him to.]

Just take off the bandage. The wound itself should be clean, but it can't hurt to wipe it with some antibiotic ointment - but you don't have to. Then put on more gauze and tape it down.

[Ronan finds something very interesting about the gauze he's been handed when Adam takes his shirt off, and he inspects it quietly. He doesn't look up until Adam starts speaking again, and when he does, he's careful to meet his eyes, serious, nodding to show that he understands, even if none of the words actually made it through to comprehension.

This is Adam needing help with an injury- a serious wound that causes him a lot of pain. Ronan cannot- will not- ruin this with stupid teenage hormones. Adam needs this from him and he's going to help and that will be the end of it, even if it does mean that he has to pull a little closer and feel the heat coming off of Adam's skin as he puts a hand on his shoulder, scraping a nail at the edge of the tape of the current bandage so he can ease it off.]

Alright.

[He's focused. If Ronan has nothing else, he has control, and it's that control that allows him to stare only at the bandage as he pries it off slowly, the stitched-up wound underneath. It makes his blood boil to look at it, but it's at least looking a little better, and he casts the old bandage aside for a moment as he tries to get a good look at how it's healing up.]

...do you want me to put anything on it? Salve or whatever?

[Yeah, not a lot of Adam's earlier instruction really got through to him. There might need to be another explanation.]

[Ronan doesn't look, and he's careful about it, and Adam knows he should be grateful. But what little vanity he has is stung, a bit, because if anyone in the world should want to look at him, shouldn't it be Ronan? And if Ronan doesn't want to, will anyone, ever?

But he didn't come here for that, and he can't let it distract him, because it's selfish and pretty stupid. Ronan pulls the bandage off, and Adam looks down as well, checking the progress of the wound. It's stitched up, a better job than Adam could have done, and healing pretty well, though it's only been a few days. It might scar, but it shouldn't be too bad, and so long as he keeps it clean it won't get infected.

And that shouldn't be hard. Adam hasn't left the house since it happened. He knows he's no match against someone with a rifle with knows how to use it and wants him dead. He's safer here, hidden away, even if makes him feel a little bit like a caged animal.

He blinks at Ronan for a moment when Ronan asks his question, and then can't quite keep a tiny smile from his face. Maybe Ronan is more distracted than he seemed. Adam shouldn't be pleased by that, but he is, and he really doesn't have it in him to give Ronan a hard time about it. He'll just hold on to that tiny kernel of knowledge that he can distract Ronan Lynch, and let himself enjoy it.]

Yeah, if you don't mind.

[He finds the tube of antibiotic ointment in the pile of things he brought, holds it out.]

Just a little would be okay.

[Ronan nods and takes the ointment from him, looking down at the bottle- he recognizes it, the feel and shape of it, and it brings a little flare of accomplishment licking through his ribs, that Adam is using something Ronan had created, even if this is technically what it was created for in the first place. Still, no time for distraction, so he uncaps it and drags his fingers through a little before leaning in and- pausing.]

Shit.

[The bottle is capped again and Ronan wipes his fingers carelessly on the bedspread, a little frustrated with himself.]

I should wash my hands first. [That's what Adam has done when he's tended to Ronan's injuries, and Ronan skulks around the clinic enough to know that Bruce does it on the regular, before handling anyone. He hasn't touched the actual stitching yet, just the exterior of the bandage and a little bit of the skin around Adam's shoulder, so hopefully he hasn't potentially gotten anything bad on it?

Ronan shifts like he's going to move and then thinks better of it, leaning in for a quick kiss to Adam's forehead, before pulling back for good this time.]

I'll be right back. Hang on.

[The kiss surprises him, but pleasantly so, and it brings a smile to his lips. Maybe someday Adam will get used to Ronan's casual affection, but that day isn't today. He nods.]

Yeah, good idea.

[He should have mentioned it, probably, except that Adam isn't so concerned about himself. He'd have washed his hands if he were rebandaging Ronan, and has done it, but - he doesn't know. It doesn't seem as important when it's him. Or maybe it's just that he was distracted by Ronan. Maybe he should have asked Gansey for help instead. But he can't regret asking Ronan, because even if it's awkward - well, isn't this something they should get used to?

He sits on Ronan's bed, amusing himself by looking around and picking out the little things that are new since he was last in there. Ronan is an endless source of impossible dream-things, and though Adam isn't normally the fanciful type, he doesn't think anyone could see the sorts of things Ronan makes and not be interested in them.

There are little piles of found objects here and there, thanks to Chainsaw, and Adam recognizes a button from one of his shirts and a few shards of a bowl that got broken. As messy as Ronan's room is, Adam likes it. It feels like him.]

[In the bathroom, Ronan splashes some water on his face, since it's there and all. He buries his nose in a towel next, breathing out a little before moving to thoroughly wash his hands, trying to ensure that he gets all the dirt and grime of the city and the various mischief he gets up to out from under his nails and the crevices of his palms. Once it seems well enough, he dries them and uses the towel to open the door.

When he's back in his own room, Ronan nods at Adam, far more ready for this now that he's had a moment or two to compose himself and make sure he's attacking this from the right angle. Ronan eases back into where he was sitting earlier on his bed across from Adam and takes up the jar again, gets a little on his fingers again, and leans in to look at the puckered stitch line before his eyes flick to Adam's own, quiet and sure.]

It might sting.

[He doesn't know if it will or not, but Ronan moves forward anyway, easing the ointment over Adam's injury. Just a light coating, just enough to be effective, and he pulls away, his brows knit in concentration.

(Adam's shoulders are just like he remembers, spattered with a dusting of freckles, prominent collarbones, scars that he aches to put his mouth on, to kiss away the memories attached to them, a thin frame like he imagined, fragile and tan, like the backroads in the middle of fall-)]

-how. [His chin tilts up suddenly,] do you want me to do the bandage? Just, the padding and tape around it?

[He watches Ronan. Ronan's hand on him are gentle and careful, his Celtic skin a few shades paler than Adam's own Virginia dust tan, and the intimacy of the act surprises Adam. It shouldn't, he's taken care of Ronan's wounds often enough, but Adam is still not used to being taken care of himself. He's more familiar with icing his own bruises, bandaging his own cuts. But Ronan has done those things for him before, since they left home, and he's doing it now.

It doesn't sting, but the cool ointment feels nice against Adam's skin. Ronan's doing just fine, and Adam doesn't see any need to correct him. He reaches out with his good arm and tugs the gauze out of the little pile of stuff he brought.

It's evident that Ronan wasn't actually listening at all when Adam was talking earlier. Adam should be irritated, maybe, but instead he finds it - well, flattering, actually. Ronan was distracted because of him, and Adam is rather happy to be considered a distraction.]

Yeah. Put this over it and tape it down. It doesn't need to be that secure, since I'm not gonna be doing much with that arm.

[Just chores around the house, really. Adam hasn't left it since he got home after getting shot. It's safer here, and he knows that Ronan is more comfortable with them all in one place. Adam has no intention of making him protect all of them - if it came down to that, Adam would be facing whatever danger approached regardless of what Ronan wants - but there's no reason to make him worry unnecessarily, either.]

Hey. Um, thanks for doing this.

[Ronan tries to put more effort into listening the second time that the process of bandaging the wound is explained, and he nods, taking up the gauze from Adam's hands and making sure that the piece is big enough. He leans in, gently resting the cotton over the stitching of the bullet wound, making sure that everything was lined up before pressing down a little harder with his still-healing arm.

The hand that's not halfway obscured by a plaster cast reaches out for the tape, tugging at a section before raising it up to his teeth to bite off the edge of it. One section of the tape is enough to secure the gauze to Adam's skin, so Ronan can pull his arm back and use that to help him further get at the tape.

The thanks surprises him, and he shifts his focus back upward, toward Adam's face for a quiet moment, as if he's not quite sure how to respond to it. He's done this before- helping Adam with injuries, but those were less severe than this. Adam has helped him with things like this before, stitching up where bullets had grazed him, bandaging up stab wounds, helping him to the clinic with broken bones- and so Ronan had just assumed that it was something they did for one another, something that didn't have to be officially recognized.

But how many people had done this for Adam? How many people had helped him with his injuries, kept him safe, made sure that he was alright? He's struck with the image of Adam in his old, cramped bedroom, twisting over himself to try and apply first aid to all of his own cuts and bruises and it makes his mouth go tight. That doesn't have to happen anymore. He'll make sure it doesn't, and he bites off another piece of tape to secure the gauze with, leaning back in to apply it.]

'course.

[A third piece of tape, and then it seems to be holding alright, but Ronan looks over it skeptically and starts on a fourth, just in case, smoothing his palm over the hollow of Adam's shoulder maybe a little more than necessary. It looks sort of rushed and not exactly expertly applied- instead of neatly encasing the gauze, the tape is applied in straight lines across it, like a strange asterisk symbol, but Ronan thinks it'll do the job. He hopes that Adam won't mind it too much, anyway.]

I'm here for you.

[It's clear that Ronan doesn't have a whole lot of first aid experience. Adam doesn't mind, though. He's not doing a bad job, and his tender care is more than a little affecting, more than enough to make up for whatever shortfalls in ability he might have. And he responds to Adam so easily, so casually.

They've helped each other out before, but Adam gets injured less than Ronan, so he's needed the help less often. All that means is that he's still not used to it, that it still means a lot to him. That it's not something he can simply brush off, it's not something that's casual to him. He doesn't want to make a big deal of it, but he needed to express some kind of gratitude.]

Yeah.

[He smiles at Ronan, just a little, and raises his good arm to touch the bandage, testing the tape. It's secure, it's good.]

Not too bad. Maybe you should come help out at the clinic sometimes, too. Exercise that great bedside manner.

[The mental image is pretty great, and it makes Adam's lips quirk into a smile that's wider, more genuine. Amused.

But on the other hand, the idea of Ronan being so gentle with someone else doesn't quite sit right with Adam. He knows it's a selfish thought, that Ronan does not belong to him and he doesn't have a right to be possessive, but it's not something he can entirely shake, either. Luckily, he thinks, Ronan is at least as bad when it comes to that sort of thing. Not that that makes it right, but it makes it equal.]

[Ronan can only really quirk up a sharp eyebrow at that, knowing full well that it's sarcasm, even if the mental image is rather disastrous. Ronan doubts that he could have the patience to do this for anyone else- hell, he doubts he'd care enough to do it for anyone outside of this house, so it's not likely that he'll be offering himself out to take care of anyone anytime soon.

Still, Adam is sweet and Ronan is happy to help him however he can, even if the fact that he's injured at all is enough to make Ronan's blood boil. He's careful here to make sure that Adam is comfortable, that he doesn't seem to be in too much pain, and his gaze flits up to Adam's eyes for a moment, quiet and unsmiling, just to be sure- before he finally pulls away with a small nod.]

I do enough for the clinic as it is.

[Bluntly. But his crude manner doesn't stop him from looking Adam over again, hungry in that direct way again, despite Adam's injury, despite Ronan's sullen mood on the whole matter. He can look now and so he does, blatantly, before tilting his chin up and meeting Adam's eyes again.]

You should walk around like that more often.

[He delivers it absolutely deadpan, before he leans over to snag at the dirty bandage and stands to toss it away in the rarely-used garbage bin in the corner of his room.]

[He doesn't quite know what to do when Ronan looks at him, how to react. He wanted Ronan to - he can admit that much - but it's also true that no one's ever looked at Adam like that before. He can't pretend it's a normal thing, that he's used to being - appreciated. It makes him smile, maybe just a touch shy.]

I'd get cold.

[Adam has never had a particularly high opinion of his own attractiveness. His face - that's all right, sometimes, if you look at it from the right angle. He's not classically handsome like Gansey or savage and dangerous like Ronan. He's thin, all his muscles tending toward leanness instead of bulk, and at home he could scrub all he wanted and still he'd find motor oil under his fingernails, dirt on his shoes.

For whatever reason, Ronan either likes that or at least doesn't mind it. Adam doesn't quite know how to feel about that, except lucky and flattered. Ronan could want anybody - and there had been plenty of attractive guys at Aglionby, and plenty since they'd been taken, too - and for some reason he wants Adam.

It's a fragile moment, and Adam knows he can't let it go too far. Not when they're both injured, as much as he likes the way Ronan looks at him.]

I thought you'd be going stir-crazy, cooped up in here.

I could warm you up.

[It's an instinctive answer, but he regrets it a moment later when he realizes that he's possibly being too forward. Adam has never really seemed uncomfortable with Ronan's attraction to him, but now- when he's recovering from a bullet wound, hurting and sore and likely tired from all of the heightened emotion that's been swarming through the house recently- might not be the best time to blatantly hit on him.

Ronan presses his lips together then, frustrated with himself for wanting, frustrated at the situation for putting Adam shirtless in his bed for the first time and making it about something as stupid as an injury that needs tending to. He makes his way back to the bed and heaves himself on it with a dramatic sigh, sliding up to lay between Adam an the wall, his shoulder close to where Adam is sitting. Ronan settles on his stomach with his elbows propping himself up, a position that closes him off a little- but only because flipping on his back might seem too inviting for the situation- while at the same time letting him maintain a little bit of nonchalance about their conversation.

Also, it ensures that he's not stuck there, looking at Adam's bare chest with nothing he can do about it.]

Who says I'm not? [He sighs, reaching out for the softball he'd been messing with earlier. Ronan turns it idly in his hands, his thumbs tracing over the strange, spiraling pattern of the stitching.]

If not for Sargent going psycho and giving us a little fucking excitement, I'd have jumped off the balcony by now.

[He's not uncomfortable with Ronan's attraction now, injury or not, and internally Adam is more than a little thrilled that Ronan - Ronan is flirting with him. It seems silly to be pleased by that, when he's nearly memorized the taste of Ronan's mouth and the sweetness of his kisses, but he is. He used to - well, not try to flirt, exactly, but now and then he'd let down his guard, go a little too far. Ronan never reacted well. Adam can't blame him for that, not really, but now he seems okay with it, even willing to do it himself.

It makes Adam happy. It means something. He wants to encourage it, but he knows now is a bad time. Still, he waits for Ronan to settle next to him and then reaches out, touching his back, letting his hand slide up a little to rest on the back of his neck. Not holding, just touching. A gentle, careful form of affection.]

Please don't. You don't need a broken leg too.

[Adam thinks about Blue and Gansey and that whole mess, and he bites his lip.]

She's gonna be upset when this is all over. And Gansey -

[He's upset now, and there really isn't anything either of them can do about it.]

[Ronan goes still at the press of fingers against his back, but he doesn't pull away from the touch. He hadn't been expecting it, but now that it's here, he doesn't want to discourage it. Slow- careful, so as not to dislodge Adam's hand- he turns his head to look up at him, quiet as he speaks.

Just like before, it's difficult to focus on much, when Adam is close enough to smell the pine and wet grass on him, when Adam's warm fingers are resting on his neck, but Ronan nods anyway, quiet for a beat longer than is strictly necessary for their conversation.]

Gansey knows it's bullshit. [He says this with a confidence that he doesn't exactly feel. He remembers the look on Gansey's face when he pulled Blue off of him, and even before, how he'd reacted when they'd fought over the mirrors.

He frowns, turning back to stare at the headboard.]

Following him was our choice. If not for him, then we'd-

[There's a pause, and Ronan frowns as he tries to figure out how to say it without giving too much away. Adam knows, of course, what the sentiment is already, but saying it out loud gives it a certain life that Ronan isn't quite ready to let go of yet. So he diverts, moving onto something else.]

...anyway, people would have died anyway. It wasn't Gansey, it was Sargent's bitch of an aunt, the crap she had around the house. He knows that.

[He's quiet, still for a moment. Then his fingers move again, gently tracing the lines of Ronan's tattoo where it curls up above his thin black shirt. The back of his neck, the edges of his shoulders. It's an almost distracted sort of touch, except Adam's not distracted at all. All his attention is on Ronan, even while his mind is turning over Ronan's words, trying to figure out the best way to respond.

The truth is, some part of Adam believes that Persephone's death was his fault. Logically he knows that's not true, logically he knows she made her own choices. But if he'd just been able to find her, catch her, pull her back -

No one would have had to die, if he'd been better.

Well. Not no one. Whelk's death is still on his shoulders, and Kavinsky died as well, for all that Adam doesn't feel anything about that. He chose his path. Whelk did too, but not with such gleeful disdain for life.

None of those deaths can be placed at Gansey's feet, though. Gansey would never hurt a fly.]

He knows that, but he might need to be reminded. He takes responsibility for things that he shouldn't, sometimes. We'll just... we should just keep an eye on him, until this is over.

[His fingers trace a sharp barb of black, a claw or a thorn or a branch.]

It's selfish, but some part of me is just glad it wasn't you and me.

[He can feel Adam's fingers, and after a moment, he realizes that he's brushing against the tattoo. Ronan can mentally map out where Adam is touching, and he feels a point of frustration when Adam's hand brushes up against the hem of his shirt. He considers fixing that and prepares to move before Adam speaks again, his voice calming Ronan back into a stillness.]

We always do.

[They don't, is the thing. Ronan likes to think that they do, and it's not technically a lie, but he knows- and he's fairly certain Adam knows- that Gansey does more to keep an eye on them then they do on him. It's just how their relationship has always worked, particularly with Ronan, but he can try. Especially considering some of the things that Blue has said- he has to try.

He pulls back a little when Adam admits his so-called selfish thought- but it isn't for long, just enough for Ronan to pull his tanktop over his head and shove it between the bed and the wall. It leaves his back and more of his tattoo exposed, and Ronan settles back down against the bed, where he was before. It's a not-so-subtle request to have Adam continue to touch him just as much as it is an allowance on Ronan's part for Adam to explore this part of him.

It's nice, that they can do this. It's nice, that they can talk about something else while close like this, though the jury is still out a little on the subject matter.]

Shit, I'm glad it's not us.

[He admits it casually, like it's not a selfish thought at all.]

I can't imagine- if I went at you- [There's a pause, and Ronan's forehead creases, as if he's trying to work it out in his head, before ultimately he just sighs, rubbing at his eyes and reaching again for the softball.]

Let's talk about something else.

[Adam has always resisted Gansey's particular care, unable to realize that it was more than pity or smug benevolence, unused to being cared for at all. He's gotten better about it - about that kind of thing in general - but it still doesn't always come easy to him. It's far easier for him to accept the need to look after Gansey than the need to be looked after himself. He doesn't question Ronan's assertion that they always do, because for him, it's true. He looks after Gansey's safety in his own way. He always has.

For a moment, he pauses, distracted by the easy way Ronan removes his shirt. Adam hasn't put his own back on mainly because it's really a hassle, with only one shoulder he can move without pain, but he would be lying if he didn't admit that there is a tiny part of him that likes the way Ronan looks at him when he's like this. Adam is not used to being looked at like something attractive, and he has enough carefully hidden vanity to like it, rare and impossible as it is. But he wasn't quite expecting Ronan to join him.

Not that he's complaining. He's wanted to look at Ronan's tattoo for awhile now, and now he can. He rests his hand gently on Ronan's back, between his shoulderblades, and drags his mind back to their conversation.

It's so easy for Ronan to say things that Adam thinks of as selfish, as something he shouldn't admit. It almost makes him that it might be okay, sometimes, to think those things.]

You wouldn't.

[His voice is soft. It was never Ronan attacking him that he thought of. Ronan wouldn't hurt him. But Adam - he knows he's capable of awful things. He's always been afraid of hurting Ronan. He traces the line of something that looks like a vine, twined all through a knot beside Ronan's left shoulderblade.]

What do you want to talk about?

[Ronan settles back easy when Adam touches him, lowering down onto his elbows and careful to keep still when Adam's fingers slide along his shoulders. His tattoo splays down his back, a twisting curving thing made of feathers and thorns and blades and hidden flowers. People around him often catch a glimpse of it, but very rarely is anyone able to see the whole thing, especially not up close like this. Adam is likely the first person to see it like this since he'd gotten it done, and Ronan can't help but to smile a little at the thought, though the expression is hidden in the way his face is tilted down and away from Adam's eyes.

He lets him touch, though. Something about this feels personal, a transference of something vulnerable and intimate, but Ronan breathes through it and lets it happen however it needs to, refocuses on the current conversation.

There are a few long beats of silence. Ronan isn't quite sure what he'd want to change the subject to, but after awhile, he starts to speak, his voice low.]

I had a dream, the other night.

[It's a little softer. He still doesn't look up toward Adam, but he's not quite as closed off as he could be. He recounts the dream in quiet tones, not entirely detached and impersonal, but gentle, maybe a little disturbed. He wouldn't say it like this to anyone else.]

We were all at a pawn shop- watches and rings and old cameras and shit. We found a shelf with fuckton of snowglobes. Inside of them, there was every place we ever knew. [It's a little lighter there, a slightly happier memory, but Ronan doesn't look up because he has to continue.]

Aglionby, St. Agnes- even Harborview, but that one was broken. The trailer park was broken too.

[They'd be idiots if they didn't recognize the significance of that, but it's not a thing for saying out loud and so he doesn't- just continues speaking, soft, echoing out the rest of the dream. Ronan wets his lips, his fingers tightening against his sheet, the muscles in his back going just a little tense.]

I tried to take the Barns, but it broke when I woke up. Cut myself pretty good, got glitter water all over my sheets.

[He scoffs.]

Fuckin' lame.

[He feels Ronan tense under his fingertips, but he doesn't remove his hand. Adam knows him well enough to know that it isn't because of Adam's touch, it's because of the dream he's remembering. Not a nightmare, but not a hopeful dream, exactly. Maybe contact helps, a little, maybe Adam can help.

He's seen bits and pieces of Ronan's tattoo before, glimpses here and there, but he's never gotten the chance to simply look at it like this. It's an elaborate and complicated thing, drawing the eye, and he feels like he could look at it for hours and still find new things here and there - a curled claw that looks like Chainsaw's, a flower cradled in the curve of a thorn, something that looks like a cross but might be a sword. His fingers brush over Ronan's skin, a soft touch, exploring but not imposing.]

Can't take something that's already yours, I guess.

[Adam knows that Ronan misses the Barns terribly. It's been months, nearly a year since he's seen it, and it's such a part of him - such a vital part - that it must hurt to be apart from it. Adam can't do anything to make that better. He can't do anything but hope they can find a way home eventually, and try to offer Ronan what little solace he can until then.]

You want me to interpret your dream?

[He presses his palm against Ronan's spine, gently, as gentle as his voice.]

It definitely means you shouldn't touch broken glass, dumbass.

Edited 2016-05-09 04:37 (UTC)

Don't call me a dumbass, dumbass.

[Part of him wants to be annoyed that Adam is treating this so lightly, but the other part of him is pleased for it. Of course Adam knows how much he misses his home, of course Adam knows that he'd give anything to go back, and it's reflecting in his dreams. Ronan supposes that they can both be sad about it, or Adam can try to cheer him up and lighten the mood.

It wasn't exactly what he had in mind when he changed the subject, but it's something.

Besides, maybe it's not the best of things to discuss with Adam's hand pressed flat against him, and Ronan closes his eyes at the feel of it, tipping his head forward with a long exhale. He can feel the softness of Adam's fingertips now- and that has to be new- the warmth of his palm, the spread of his elegant fingers, flush against his back. Intentionally- or unintentionally, he doesn't know- the muscles in Ronan's back go tight, flexing under the touch, before he forces himself to relax again.

Breathe.]

I've had dreams like this too.

[Breathe.

Ronan opens his eyes and tries to refocus himself, but it's impossible, as if Adam's hands had pushed him off the edge of a cliff and he's just falling, unable to focus on anything but the rush of air past his ears and the low rumbling of truth, snatched from his throat.]

-minus the part where you have a fucking gunshot wound, obviously.

[He feels Ronan tense. He doesn't pull his hand away, but he does go still. He doesn't know how to interpret that. He will, someday, he'll know exactly what it means when Ronan goes still under his touch, he'll be able to understand every movement and soft sound. But until very recently, they'd rarely touched, especially not like this. He doesn't know, and so he's careful.

Ronan might not want Adam touching him anymore. Or maybe it's a reaction to what he said - but that, Adam is less worried about. There's always been a lightness, a teasing to their interactions at times. Sometimes it goes too far and one of them gets stung, but Adam doesn't think this is one of those times.

Or maybe it's a response to his touch, but not a negative one. Or maybe it's just that his thoughts have lead him somewhere tense. Adam can guess, but he isn't sure. He doesn't remove his hand, though, because he doesn't want to. Ronan can tell him to back off if that's what he wants, and Adam will, but without certainty he won't move.]

Thanks for not dreaming me with a gunshot wound.

[His tone is dry, amused, but he's thinking about what Ronan said and it softens, changes into something else.]

I like that you dream of me at all, though. Like this.

[He doesn't mind the touch- he likes it too much, actually, and it pushes his focus and concern away, pinpointing every sensation of feeling into the touch of Adam's fingers. He wants it to keep going, though- he just admitted that he's had dreams about it, so he hopes that it would be clear- but he can understand if Adam wants to back off.

Adam has a gunshot wound, after all. They probably shouldn't get into anything too physical, no matter how the touch to his back makes him want to respond. Ronan's eyes are lowered toward the bedsheets for a few moments before he turns on his side, displacing Adam's hand and tucking an arm under his head so he can tilt upward more easily, look toward Adam with a darkly pleased expression.]

You think I wouldn't?

[There's another breath of a pause, before Ronan shoves himself back up to a sitting position, still resting mostly on his side with his legs outstretched and his arms in front of him, braced with his palm against the sheets. It's a position that lets him lean in a little closer, his chin brushing against Adam's shoulder.]

I can tell you about it.

[Cheeky, maybe teasing him a little. Despite the fact that they probably shouldn't, it's damn near impossible to resist messing with him, now that they can. Adam is still injured, Ronan still has a cast. Nothing will happen, but- there's still a little thrill to be had in making him flush, isn't there?]

[He knows he shouldn't take the bait. Ronan is teasing him, or flirting, or maybe both. They can't do anything - Adam can barely lift his arm, so it doesn't really matter what he wants, when the fact of the matter is that anything but a very gentle touch will get painful. Now isn't the time or the place.

But it still thrills him that Ronan is comfortable flirting now, is comfortable letting things go in directions he would have gotten spiky and angry at before. Adam was never playing, but he can understand why Ronan didn't like it. Now, though, things are different.

And he's curious.]

Okay. Tell me.

[His gaze is challenging, then, if not a little amused. And - not hestitant, exactly. Shy, maybe, just a tiny bit. This is all new ground for Adam, for both of them. He's made up his mind and committed himself to his path, he knows what he wants, but that doesn't mean that walking this uncharted path is always easy.

He leans in just a little closer, inches away from Ronan. Adam could kiss him right now. He doesn't, but he thinks about it.]

The Killing Game

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