Chapter Text
The first time it happens, Adam’s in a dream. Ronan’s, specifically.
Adam leans back to rest his head on his pillow when his bed vanishes beneath him, replaced by a meadow. Cabeswater, his brain supplies as he takes in the surrounding trees. He can feel the pulse of the ley lines thrumming in his veins.
Adam’s in the same pair of ratty boxers he fell asleep in. His hair is still damp from the shower he took before bed and he’s shirtless. Ronan’s sitting close enough that their knees touch and the fabric of his jeans rub against Adam’s bare legs. Unlike Adam, he’s fully clothed. It’d hardly be a surprise if the other boy slept in his jeans and muscle tee.
“Ronan?” Adam croaks, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion as the other boy slides closer to him.
I’m in his head, Adam realizes. Ronan is going to kill him. He braces himself, waiting for the other boy to release a heated string of cusses.
Ronan doesn’t.
Instead, he narrows his eyes at Adam and scratches the back of his neck, fidgeting under the scrutiny. “Problem, Parrish?”
Adam blushes and curls his fists in the grass. “Nothin,” he mutters, his accent creeping into his voice as he peers around Cabeswater. “Is it safe here?”
He’s always suspected the horrors that lived in Ronan’s brain. He doesn’t really want to stick around for the confirmation. If he died in Ronan’s dream, what would happen to him? His stomach sinks.
“Safe as life. Scout’s honor,” he replies, giving Adam a salute.
Adam stiffens in response.
Ronan smirks and drapes an arm around his waist. “Relax, loser. It’s not that kind of dream.”
He’s still processing when Ronan leans in to close the space between them. His first instinct is to pull away and demand answers like why the hell he’s appearing in his friend’s dream, but he’s distracted by way Ronan almost tenderly cups his face in his hands. Adam shivers at the pressure of another body pressing against his, at the sensation of Ronan’s lips trailing along his neck and collar.
Oh, that kind of dream. He’s so screwed.
“Hng maybe we should discuss this first?” Adam says through gritted teeth as Ronan nips at his shoulder.
Ronan huffs against Adam’s shoulder. “The fuck is there to discuss?”
“Boundaries? Preferences? Safe words?”
Ronan pauses. “Squash. Chainsaw. Bullseye. Take your pick, princess.”
“Weirdo,” Adam grunts. He bites Ronan’s lip teasingly as he snakes a hand between them and curls his fingers around where Ronan is hard and straining in his jeans.
“Fuck, Parrish. Always so good,” Ronan hisses as they rock together slowly.
Always. The word reverberates in his head as Ronan kisses him softly. Ronan’s dreamt this before. Adam’s suddenly painfully aware of himself. His hands are clumsy as steadies himself, clutching at Ronan’s muscle tee. His lips are chapped. Surely Ronan had dreamt himself a more practiced lover than this.
Now he’s jealous of himself, of all people. Ronan’s head is a dangerous, fucked up place to be.
Ronan drops his head against Adam’s collar. He can feel his friend’s answering grin against his skin as Ronan slips his hand into Adam’s boxers.
Always. As if there was no distinction between his dreamt Adam and the real thing. As if this was just another wet dream for him. Fuck.
He begins to say something, to tell the other boy that he’s real when Ronan starts doing things with his thumb that makes Adam writhe as the words die in his throat.
“Oh, god, yeah,” Adam whines. He rakes his nails down Ronan’s back.
“I prefer to go by greywaren,” Ronan says as he presses his nose against Adam’s throat. ”But if the shoe fits.”
He lies back on the grass as Ronan nudges his legs apart with his knees. The ground is uncomfortable against his back and Ronan’s wristbands chafe against his skin but the friction is perfect and Adam bucks into his grip anyway.
“Lynch,” Adam whimpers. “C’mon, please.” He’s only slightly embarrassed about the broken, desperate noises that he’s making. It’s worth it, he decides, as Ronan hums in concentration and wraps his fingers around Adam’s cock.
He turns his head away, trying to avoid noticing the way Ronan’s looking at him like he’s a fucking miracle.
Lonesome. How long has Ronan wanted this? Is he satisfied by the dreams, the stolen moments that he conjures in between nightmares? Are they enough? Are they better?
Not for the first time, Adam’s stomach twists in guilt. Now, with his cock dripping precome onto Ronan’s knuckles, isn’t the best time to announce that he’s not one of Ronan’s dream things.
It’s unnerving to have him focus all his concentration on Adam. Part of it is vanity, the surreal thought that Ronan, the mysterious, rich asshole who can pluck things out of his dream is two seconds from getting him off.
“Fuck,” Ronan groans, “C’mon Parrish. Come for me.”
It should be embarrassing, the whimper he releases through gritted teeth as he comes in Ronan’s hand, only it’s not because Ronan’s giving him a heated look like he’s only just began to draw those noises from him.
With a wince, Ronan draws his hand out of Adam’s boxers and wrings his wrists.
“Your wristbands?” Adam asks, his gaze drawn to where the leather bands are wet. His ears turn bright pink.
With a snort, Ronan tugs the bands off. “I’ll dream myself more. They’re not the first pair I’ve ruined.”
Adam blinks once, twice before he gets it. Oh.
“Of course,” Adam replies as flushes.
The other boy tilts his head to the side, like he’s trying to figure something out.
“You good?”
Adam nods weakly and swallows.
“Yeah. Yeah I just-” He closes his eyes and skates his fingers along the twisted shape of Ronan’s tattoo.
When he opens his eyes he’s back in his bedroom and his boxers are damp and tacky against his skin.
Shit.
He traces a finger over his lips where he can still feel the phantom warmth of Ronan’s mouth.
Shit.