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“Lynch!” Adam shouts from upstairs. “You there?”
Ronan stands at the bottom of the stairs, holding the bannister. He stretches his neck side to side. He had been sitting in front of his computer a good chunk of the morning, researching colleges Adam had applied to. “What do you want?”
Adam comes to the landing, his face covered in shaving cream, a quarter of his left side shaved. He is shirtless and wearing shorts. They have been together for months now, yet Ronan cannot stop himself from dragging his eyes across Adam’s naked torso. “I can’t find my razor. Have you seen it?”
Ronan groans as he climbs the stairs. He is clad in his joggers and nothing else, the summer heat relentless. “The fuck would I do with your razor?”
In the bathroom, Adam points to the edge of the sink. “I put it there to take a call, and now it’s gone.”
“It’s not grown legs, Parrish, you must have taken it with you.” Ronan rolls his eyes. Adam makes up for all the phone calls Ronan does not pick up. Amidst the two of them, they average out well.
Ronan returns empty-handed from the bedroom, and Adam looks at him. It hits them both at the same time.
Adam scrambles down the stairs. “Opal! Opal, I swear, you better not have what I think you have!”
Chainsaw is screeching at the front of the Barns as Ronan follows Adam out. He doesn’t know if he should be angry or laugh. He laughs because Adam launches at Chainsaw, who’s trapped in both of Opal’s grubby hands, with the razor clamped between her lips.
“Give me that!” Adam shouts as he takes the razor out of Opal’s shocked mouth and throws it on the porch. “And give me her!”
Opal hisses at Adam, who cradles Chainsaw in his arms, stroking a gentle finger over her head, panicked eyes calming down. It had been a while since Opal had been punished, and she was unlearning all the rules Ronan and Adam hammered into her feral brain.
“What did I tell you about sharp objects?” Ronan says, crossing his arms. “How many times have we got to tell you the same things?”
Opal growls at Ronan and takes off down the stairs, pushing over the water can off the porch and stomping in the water before running towards one of the side barns.
Chainsaw stares wearily in the direction of Opal and flies to sit on the bannister.
“I don’t know what she has against the poor thing,” Adam says as they head back inside. “They’re both a part of you.”
“I can’t get all philosophical with you here, Parrish,” Ronan says, grinning at Adam. “But it’s not like I’m in love with myself on most days, am I?”
Adam places a hand on Ronan’s cheek, inhales softly. Their eyes meet, and Ronan cannot look away. Adam loves him. The Adam Parrish he prayed for loves him. Against all odds, Adam stands in front of him and speaks a thousand words with each inhale.
Ronan brings his hand to his lips and kisses it in worship. He takes the razor from Adam’s other hand and nods towards the upstairs bathroom. “Let me.”
In the bathroom, Adam sits on the edge of the bathtub, breathing hard.
Ronan wipes his face to get rid of the old shaving cream with a warm cloth. He shakes the can of shaving cream and squirts some of it onto his hand, airy like meringues yet astringent in its scent. With his right hand holding Adam’s chin, he applies it to his face.
Adam tilts his face towards Ronan, who stands between his legs, bending down to shave his face. His cerulean eyes flooded with a rope of trust that curls around Ronan. He drags his eyes away from his boyfriends, gulps at the desire to abandon the task at hand and hide his face in Adam’s neck.
Biting his tongue to bring back his focus, Ronan drags the razor along the length of Adam’s cheek. Adam blinks up at him, his lips slightly parted. Adam’s hands find Ronan’s waist, and he digs his fingers into Ronan’s flesh, chest rising and falling heavily.
The water sloshes in the mug as Ronan whisks it to remove Adam’s hair from it. The smell of the shaving cream overwhelming him, albeit being the same one he uses on himself. The summer’s heat cascades down his back. The bathroom tiles press in on them, and Ronan wants to be outside under the open sky.
Finishing the last patch of Adam’s chin, Ronan turns away to wash his hands. He wants Adam; he wants him so bad it hurts every inch of his body. He shakes his head to rid himself of the warmth of Adam’s breath on him, his parted lips, the bite of his fingernails on Ronan’s skin. But Adam is busy this afternoon, and he didn’t want to intrude on his time. Adam has better things to do.
As Ronan makes to walk out of the bathroom, Adam is gripping his left wrist. He is about to ask Adam what the matter is when his eyes fall on Adam’s lap.
Oh.
He tugs Ronan so he is standing in front of Adam again, fingertips digging the yielding flesh of Ronan’s hips. “Take care of it,” Adam groans, pressing his face into Ronan’s stomach, his words pulsing on his skin. “Please.”
Ronan pushes Adam away so he can look into his face. Adam’s voice is broken into a whisper; his words are molten lava on Ronan’s nerves. “Take care of me, Ronan.”
His breath is fast and ragged as he stares down at Adam, gulping against the harsh lump in his throat. The world spins and falls away like embers as Adam’s blue eyes cloud over with tears. The vulnerability is scalding, and it’s taking everything in Ronan not to melt onto the bathroom floor.
Adam needs him. The self-sufficient, self resilient, never needing anyone’s help, Adam is asking Ronan to take care of him. Everything Ronan does in their relationship to take care of Adam comes from Ronan; Adam has never asked for any of it. Not the food he makes for Adam, the car rides, the dreams of conveniences he lays in Adam’s hands. None of it.
Ronan needs to nod, say yes, move his hands and grab Adam. Yet, he stands there, holding Adam at arm's length.
Shaving Adam’s face, for him, was the knife needed to cut through the film of Adam’s sense of self. Such a small act stripped Adam down to his core, and Ronan could not look away from the rawness of it. There is an uproar of hot blood in his ears, thrumming with such incessant cacophony that Ronan is afraid he will lose his balance; he digs his toes into the cold bathroom tiles.
Adam glides his hands off of Ronan’s hips and digs his palms into his eyes. Why was he ashamed of his needs today? Adam was the one who spoke outright about his desires, something Ronan was learning to get better at. Ronan could not make sense of what was happening. The world continues outside this bathroom, as if Ronan’s lover is not unbecoming between his hands; he is angry at its audacity. Stop, stop, stop.
Adam inhales harshly on his next sob, snapping Ronan out of his sloshy brain. Ronan is crouching down so his hands are under Adam’s knees and one on his back. He prays for the walls to stop tilting this way and that, blurring at their edges as he carries Adam into their bedroom.
What had he done?
“Adam,” Ronan chokes out, the words coating his throat like hot honey, into Adam’s hearing ear. “My Adam.”
Adam refuses to remove his face from Ronan’s neck whilst he places Adam softly onto the bed. He digs his knees into the firm mattress.
On rare occasions, when the pair's needs vary from their norms, Ronan does take control of their sex life, giving in to Adam’s wants or Ronan’s needs. Yet, this Adam is different.
Why won’t Adam let Ronan look at his face?
Ronan tries to rise away from his body, but Adam clings to him. He needs Adam’s guidance even when he is supposed to take charge. Why won’t Adam help him? Ronan’s heart clenches tightly in his chest.
A few months ago, Ronan’s self-doubt froze him long enough for Adam to say, “If you don’t make a move and do something, I’ll fall asleep hard, and it will become permanent.” Ronan laughed so hard that Adam had to pin him down and take over. Tutting as Ronan laughed into the pillow Adam pressed his face into.
He can’t ask Adam now, can he? Does that make him a bad sex partner? Is he a loser for being lost without Adam’s goading words or mocking eyes? Shame coils in the pits of his stomach and settles uncomfortably.
Adam’s length is still rock hard against his thighs. No, he is not bad in bed. Adam reassures him enough. Now is not the time to question this whilst Adam is breathing warmly into his neck. Adam’s heartbeat is loud enough in the quiet of the bedroom, rivalling Ronan’s own, thudding in his ears.
This is the one place where Adam lays his true self bare to Ronan, and Ronan does the same. These moments when they lie together are sacred, and he will not let his insecurities muddy the clear water of desire that flows between them.
When Ronan does take charge, he likes to take it slow, worship Adam the way he was created to be worshipped, tenderly. Can he do that now with Adam’s guttural need for him?
“Can I take it slow?” Ronan asks, his words cascading down the bedroom walls and cluttering around them. He bites the shame threatening to choke him for seeking Adam’s confirmation. Adam always knew what to do when Ronan unravelled in his arms, becoming a mess, but he was not Adam.
“You already are,” Adam says, digging his fingernails into Ronan’s shoulder blades. The pain jolts Ronan into action.
Ronan reaches over to the windowsill and grabs a lonesome tennis ball that has been gathering dust there for years. He knew it would come into use one day. He lifts away enough to throw it hard against the bedroom door, not wanting any of their dream creatures to intrude.
The door clicks shut, and Adam sighs in relief at Ronan’s touch. Ronan smiles.