Work Header

5 Times Adam Parrish was a Cocktease (and 1 Time He Actually Put Out)

Work Text:


“You guys should totally get matching tattoos,” said Blue, gasping and clasping her hands together. “Oh my god. That would be so cute. Can you imagine?”

“I’d rather not,” said Gansey, but he was looking at her fondly. It was sickening.

“How about it, Parrish?” Ronan turned his gaze to the rather more favourable image of Adam Parrish, pale and reserved on the couch beside him. He brought a foot up, his knee falling open against the back. “Yin and yang, baby. You can be my one dot of zen or whatever.”

Adam raised his brows coolly at Ronan. He was still pissed from earlier. Ronan was determined to warm him right back up.

He smirked, licking his teeth. Adam blinked slowly, unimpressed.

 “You guys should get faces,” said Henry, without looking up from his knitting. “Beyonce for Adam and Nicki for Ronan.”

“If you really want to accurately portray our dynamic,” said Adam, still staring straight at Ronan. “We could get bunkbeds. You can have the bottom.”

In Ronan’s peripheral vision, Gansey’s jaw unhinged. Blue clapped a hand over her mouth and snorted. Henry was looking at Adam with unadulterated admiration.

Ronan’s face was hot. He raised a single brow at Adam. So it was going to be like that, huh?

Adam raised a single brow back. He was smirking, just a little.


“Wow,” said Gansey, having re-attached his jaw. “That is…burned permanently into my brain tissue.”

“Oh, come on,” said Blue. She scoffed. “It’s not really that surprising.”

“Hey!”  Ronan sat straight up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you give off those twinky ass vibes, man,” said Henry, grinning with all his teeth. “Ratchet ass vibes.”

Ronan sat there, frozen in rage, and the sheer ridiculousness of the nightmarish scene unfolding before him. Adam was laughing beside him.

With one hand, he grabbed one of the moth-eaten cushions and hurled it at his boyfriend’s face. And then with the other, because Henry was cheerfully not his boyfriend, he grabbed a small table and readied to launch it at Henry.

“Woah, woah.” Gansey was up, obscuring Ronan’s rightful road to revenge. “Okay. No table throwing. This is a no table throwing zone.”

“Yeah, it used to be,” said Ronan, still holding the table in the air. “But then your punk ass boyfriend called me a twink.”

“And he’s not,” called Adam from behind them. “Ronan’s clearly a twunk.”

Ronan was just about to turn around with the illegally raised table, boyfriend status damned, but Gansey grabbed his wrist. He was very obviously trying not to laugh.

“Ronan, your bedroom preferences are nobody’s business but yours. I would like to apologise, on behalf of the collective group, for our own childish presumptuousness. In the meantime, could you please return that table to the ground? Slowly.”

Ronan glared at them all, but put the table back down. He could not believe his life sometimes.

Or his fucking boyfriend. Who was just sitting there, smirking right up at him, like he hadn’t just single-handedly humiliated the shit out of him. Ronan fell back down to the couch, heavily. He could still feel Adam’s smirk next to him.

He kinda hated that he found it so hot.

The conversation (thank Mary fucking fuck) moved on. Ronan must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew, Adam was rubbing his shoulder and standing up.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get back.”

The others had clearly gone to bed. Ronan groaned and followed Adam back out to the car. Inside, Adam slotted the key into the ignition and twisted, allowing the engine to thrum to life around them. Ronan slumped against the passenger seat, watching him.

Adam caught his gaze and half-smiled. “You’re tired today,” he noted.

Ronan grunted. “I guess getting backstabbed by my fucking snake boyfriend really takes it out of me.”

Adam just laughed and began to pull out of the car park, the streetlights pouring in through the windshield and onto his skin like running honey. His profile was a sharp line in the dark.

Ronan took a moment to just study him. To enjoy it. After all this time, he still found Adam Parrish to be a goddamn miracle. Even with his guileful tendencies. Perhaps especially with them.
 Ronan let his gaze fall to Adam’s shoulders, down to where the seatbelt was buckled at his hip. Along to where his hands were clutched on the steering wheel, confident and masculine. He had rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. Ronan could see the tendons flexing in his forearm.

Ronan shifted, pressing his cheek deeper into the leather cushioning. He still felt groggy and warm from sleep. “Baby,” he said.

Adam glanced over at him, his eyes amused and expectant. The lights of passing cars kept skittering off the flat cliff of his jaw, the elegant slide of his cheekbones, the withdrawn set of his brow. His hair was tumbling in careless waves, all over his forehead, all over Ronan’s mind. The sight of Adam, driving Ronan’s car. It still did things to him.

Ronan bit his lip.

Adam raised his brow, and then his eyes dropped to Ronan’s lap, and he raised it again, more sharply. His gaze returned to the road.

“Really?” he murmured, voice dry, although Ronan knew him well enough to tell when he liked something. “Right now?”

Ronan grinned lazily and turned a little in his seat, curving his body towards Adam. His hips rolled forward, unhurried, seeking friction. “Baby,” he said again.

Adam shook his head in exasperation and continued to drive, pointedly ignoring Ronan. His lips were a thin line. It was driving Ronan crazy.

Feeling daring, he reached down and began to slowly palm the front of his jeans, curving closer. Adam’s hands tightened on the wheel.

“Baby,” he said one more time, letting the word turn into a breathy mess, closing his eyes to the feel of it.

The car suddenly swerved and then stopped altogether, catching Ronan by surprise. He opened his eyes, watching as Adam killed the engine and unbuckled his seatbelt. He lifted one foot onto the seat, resting an arm on his bent knee, and then turning over to look at Ronan with hooded eyes. Ronan began to smile.

“Hey,” he said and reached for Adam, but Adam’s voice stopped him.


Ronan blinked. The lights of a passing car flashed by. “Sorry?” he said.

“No.” Adam settled back against the door. “You’re not allowed to touch me.”

Ronan blinked again, trying to clear his head. The restless tendrils of arousal curling and uncurling in his gut were making it hard to think. Adam was just sitting there, pretty, made of ice. Ronan’s breath began to shallow out.

“No?” he asked.

Adam grinned languidly. “No,” he confirmed. Then he gestured towards Ronan’s lap with a careless wave of his hand. “Don’t let me stop you, though.”

Another car passed. Ronan swallowed, and reached for his belt. He felt wide awake now.

The sound of clinking metal was loud as Ronan unbuckled. It was the car. The car and Adam’s intense gaze, aloof and commanding. Ronan watched the distinct apple in the other boy’s throat as he reached into his pants.

God. Why was this so hot? There was something inherently performative about the experience. Every rubbing movement against his jeans was amplified, heady and audacious in the quiet of the dark. Adam was just fucking sitting there, watching. Like this was goddamn daytime television. Was he even hard? Ronan swallowed back a groan and let his head fall back. His eyes were drinking in the view, the length of Adam’s exposed forearms, the veins wrapping around his wrist, his long fingers and delicate knuckles, the freckles on his nose, the texture of his jeans. His pink mouth, his pale lashes. His immoveable gaze, fixed on where Ronan’s hand was moving greedily. His eyes snapped back up to meet Ronan’s, unfathomable and dark, and Ronan’s heart missed a beat.

“Jesus,” he swore, and straightened up, one hand sliding blindly against the controls. His hips were pushing forward of their own accord, finding their own damn rhythm. Adam, Adam was going to kill him –

The shrill sound of a phone ringing sliced through the silence. Ronan jumped and swore. Adam flinched, but reached back into his pocket to pick it up anyway. Ronan stared.

Seriously? Fucking now?

Adam pressed the phone to his right ear and began to listen. He seemed to sense Ronan staring at him, because then he waved a hand at him to continue, again. Ronan kept staring. He couldn’t be serious.

He was serious. Slowly, slowly, Ronan began to move his hand again. His mouth was open, his breath escaping in pants. Adam was just sitting there, talking on the goddamn phone like – like Ronan was his goddamn secretary or some shit. Jesus. Ronan felt his cock jump in his palm and stroked his fingers against the aching skin, moaning under his breath.

Adam smirked. His eyes were on Ronan. “Yes,” he said into the phone. “I’ll just pick it up tomorrow, Gansey.”

 No fucking way. Ronan choked a little, and Adam snickered silently. God, what kind of kinky shit – God, his hand was still moving, it was too late, he couldn’t stop anyway –

Fucking Parrish. Ronan tried to keep his eyes open, but it was too much, God, with Adam’s knowing look and the way his own back was arching and yearning – and he going to fucking come, and Adam was still not hanging up – and Jesus,

Ronan groaned, Adam’s name stretched tight between his teeth as hot spurts pulsed over his fist and stars shuddered in his gut in what was maybe one of the strongest orgasms he’d had in a fucking while. He gasped, his fingers digging into the leather on Adam’s seat, a few inches from Adam’s foot, and tried to blink himself back as he climbed down. His heart was thudding like a rabbit’s.

“Nothing,” he heard Adam saying. He looked back up. Adam was biting his lip and grinning. “Nah, it was just the nightlife or something. We’ve got the windows down.”

“Just the nightlife,” Ronan mouthed, incredulous. Adam grinned wider, trying not to laugh. “Yeah, okay. See you tomorrow. Bye.” He hung up and tucked the phone into his back pocket. Then he turned and quirked a brow at Ronan.

“All done?” he asked, voice innocent and light. He was strapping himself back in with his seat belt, a hand already on the car keys.

“No way,” said Ronan. He was still untucked and covered in sweat. Worse than sweat. “No fucking way, Parrish.”

Adam just smirked and shrugged a shoulder as he pulled them back onto the road, as casual as a fucking – God. Ronan didn’t even know.

“Jesus,” Ronan collapsed back into his seat, spent and wide-eyed. The night picked up speed, flying by. “Fuck. Fuck.”

Adam just kept smiling and driving. Ronan felt like he might’ve just met Hell.



It had all really started earlier that week. Ronan had had Adam pressed up against the bathroom wall, because they were fucking classy like that, one hand coaxing those sweet sexy moans out of Adam’s throat. Then, when Adam’s phone alarm went off, indicating the start of his next lecture, he had stepped back.

“Oh,” he’d said, smirking a little. “There’s the bell. You don’t want to be late for class, babe.”

“God –” Adam had whined, his hips humping nothing but the air now. He’d looked utterly ruined. “Get back here, you asshole.”

Ronan had pursed his lips, folding his arms. “I really don’t want to distract you from your studies though,” he’d said, rubbing his chin in mock sincerity. “I know how important they are to you.”

This all stemmed to a few phone calls back, when Adam had accused Ronan of this exact thing.

Adam’s glare could have destroyed Rome. “Don’t you dare, Lynch.” Ronan knew he’d been close. “Ronan, come on, baby, please.” This came out as a wail.

“Baby” was usually what broke Ronan, but he’d been feeling extraordinarily petty that day. And arrogant. Either way, he’d just licked his lips and smirked, stepping back against the other wall. He’d even gone so far as to pick up Adam’s bag and coat for him.

“Don’t,” Adam’s eyes had been wide in horror by that point, finally realising that Ronan wasn’t fucking around. “Don’t make me go to class with a hard-on. Oh my God.”

“Don’t use his name in vain,” Ronan had crooned, and that had been that.

In retrospect, he had been being a bit of an asshole. Or a lot.

But surely, even he, did not deserve the level of cockteasing that Adam had unleashed upon him now.

Like now, with Adam grinding on top of him, the movement of his body slow and thick, like dragging a spoon through Nutella. Ronan let his head hang back, his lips parting. Everything was hot, and zoomed in, and excruciatingly intimate. Adam dragged his nose up along Ronan’s throat, tucking it under his chin before reaching up to re-capture Ronan’s mouth.

Ronan panted as the slow slide of Adam’s tongue tugged at his own, scratching sparks all down his spine. He heard the mumbled grunt of contentment of the other boy, before Adam’s efforts were re-doubled, kissing deep into Ronan’s mouth, and it nearly un-did him.

He kind of loved it when Adam fucked him like this – selfishly, as if Ronan was clairvoyant to his every desire. Like Ronan’s body was owned by him – acres of procured skin, purchased out of sheer, filthy luxury. Ronan wanted Adam to be rich with love, with sex, and it was deeply satisfying to have him act a little entitled every now and then.

Okay, and maybe Ronan had a little bit of a sub kink, but whatever man.

Point was, it was hot. Adam was hot. Ronan wanted him to fuck the everlasting bejesus out of him. In an extremely Catholic way, of course.

He shoved his hips forward in order to communicate this point to the present party, and Adam stopped sucking on his mouth to re-position himself on his pulse point, before generously situating himself lower down. Ronan hummed appreciatively as Adam unzipped him and got his jeans down, settling back down to just enjoy the eighth wonder of the world that was indeed, Adam Parrish’s mouth.

Adam had this way of dragging out a blowjob that really got straight into Ronan’s mechanism like nothing else, if only because of how delightfully in character it was. He was currently nosing the space under Ronan’s stomach, and more pressingly, above his dick, before dragging his beloved lips across Ronan’s inner thighs, pausing to nibble at his hipbones. Ronan’s hips were thrusting faintly of their own accord now, the blood in his veins pulsing. Ronan closed his eyes just as he felt Adam’s warm breath exhale over the head, and braced himself for seven minutes in heaven.

Which never came. He opened them again, and looked down. Adam was just waiting there.

“Um, dude.” Ronan shifted uncomfortably. “Have you like, forgotten how or?”

Adam raised his eyebrows pleasantly at Ronan.

“It’s just,” he said. “I remembered I have Latin homework. How crazy is that?”

Ronan’s world tipped horribly. He blinked, struggling to keep his expression under wraps.

“Not crazy at all,” he said, very carefully. He paused. “…Almost as non-crazy as continuing to give me a blow job.”

“I don’t know,” said Adam. His face was dead serious, but his eyes had that evil little glint to them that reminded Ronan of like, jeez, the Shining? “It’s due for tomorrow, and you know I love my studying.”
This last part was said in a lowered voice, his Henrietta accent drawn out deliberately. Adam exhaled hotly again, smirking, and Ronan’s cock twitched, reaching for a mouth that suddenly seemed millions of miles away. Ronan felt the distance in his very soul.

“Adam,” Ronan said. His voice was humiliatingly laboured. Adam was still smirking as he backed up, stepping away from Ronan’s grieving erection and towards the desk in the corner of the room. Ronan’s heart skipped a desperate beat. “I am going to kill you.”

Adam just grinned before tamping it down, shrugging a shoulder as he poured his gaze over his open textbook.

Dulce bellum inexpertis,” he said lightly.

Ronan collapsed back on the bed. He was approaching, with dawning fear, the realisation that his boyfriend was maybe kind of a psychopath.


The next time, Adam wandered into the bathroom shirtless while Ronan was brushing his teeth.

Ronan raised a brow and spat into the sink. “Hello,” he said.

Adam hummed and wrapped his hands around Ronan’s waist, pressing his nose against the thin bristles at the very back of Ronan’s head. “Hi,” he grunted, his lips brushing the nape of his neck.

It was quite possible that Adam was too sleepy to remember the cockteasing endeavour he was currently (and very successfully) undertaking. Ronan was gay enough to enjoy it, but also, he was on his fucking guard. He would not be cockteased again, not at eight in the fucking morning.

Ronan rinsed his brush and dumped it unceremoniously in the toothbrush pot Adam had bought them a while ago. (Honestly, he’d kick up a fuss about Ronan’s sunshine rainbow latch hook kit being unnecessary, but a toothbrush pot? Seriously?) He leaned back against Adam and narrowed his eyes at him in the bathroom mirror.

Adam lifted his head and blinked back at him, long enough for Ronan to observe the rumpled mess of his dusty hair, the smudges under his eyes, the burnt out red hovering under his cheeks and in his cracked mouth, before lolling his head against Ronan’s shoulder. He rubbed his head back and forth as if he was trying to wipe the exhaustion off on Ronan’s t-shirt.

Ronan felt his chest expand. He brought a hand up to cover one of Adam’s. “Morning,” he said.

Adam finally pulled his head back up and almost smiled, just an efficient quirk of the lips that was more of an acknowledgement that he wanted to smile rather than anything substantial. He pulled away and stretched, and then dragged his pyjama trousers down.

“What do you think of here?”

Ronan looked up from where he wasn’t really bothering to hide the fact that he was checking out Adam’s junk and met Adam’s eyes in the mirror. He followed to where Adam was pointing to the top of his chest.

“Um,” he said after a moment. “It’s good. I like it about as much as I like the rest of you.”

Adam rolled his eyes. “I meant for my tattoo.”

Oh. Yes, the tattoo, which had prompted so much savagery from Sarchengsey on Ronan’s behalf. The tattoo, which Adam had been wanting to get for a while now, which was supposed to be of Cabeswater.

Not of Cabeswater, Adam had corrected him last time. Just…something that gave him the same feeling.

Ronan tried not to think about how he had dreamt Cabeswater. About how Adam had sacrificed himself for it. About how it had come to mean something to the other boy, his boyfriend, about how it had become so precious that Adam now seemed to want it painted permanently into his skin cells.

He had said it belonged there.

Yes, Ronan tried not to think about it, but he wasn’t very disciplined.

Ronan leaned back against the tiles, all appraising. “How about over your heart?”

Adam rolled his eyes again, more dramatically, and then pulled back the shower curtain and stepped into the shower.

“How about I just get our initials tattooed onto my ribcage?” he muttered as he fiddled with the temperature setting. “Then, if we ever break up, I could get a half-naked pin up girl over the top.”

Ronan was grinning with all his teeth. “Don’t let Blue hear you,” he said. “She’ll make you wish you never saw a pin-up girl in the first place.”

Adam smirked a little, tiredly. Then he seemed to catch notice of the way Ronan’s body was slumped, the way he was biting his lip. Not an offering, exactly – but.


He smirked again, properly, and then turned away to face the showerhead, switching the water on. Once it was fully working, dripping rivulets over the tan shapes of Adam, he turned back around and met Ronan’s gaze. Smiled, and then jerked his head to the side. Come over here.

Cockteasing, schmockteasing. Restraint was for fools. Ronan shucked his clothes a little too fast and got in the fucking shower.

Adam was all pretty this close, blinking droplets out of his eyes and pushing his darkened fringe out of his face. Water was running down the lush valley of his bottom lip. Ronan leaned forward and kissed him.

Adam made a small sound of surprise as Ronan took that lower lip into his mouth and worried it, licking and sucking at it with his tongue. Ronan knew he was coming off as desperate; he didn’t care. He was. Kissing Adam was the best thing, maybe ever.

Kissing Adam was all petals, blossoming. Adam gave himself into the kiss and wrapped his arms around Ronan’s neck, his back arching up, pressing his stomach against Ronan’s skin. Everything was the perfect balance between soft and hard. Ronan pressed him up against the tiles and rolled his body into him.

Adam moaned, appreciative, and brought one hand up to Ronan’s shoulder as Ronan moved onto his neck, his mouth a free, wild thing. There was so much skin to enjoy, and Ronan didn’t want to leave one bit of it unsavoured. He was going mad with it.

Above him, Adam chuckled, a little breathlessly. “I’ve really worked you up, haven’t I?”

Ronan came back up and bit his chin. “Asshole,” he breathed, and then dropped to his knees.

Adam’s chuckling suddenly became a lot more breathless as Ronan attacked his stomach and hipbones. One hand was already wrapped around him, not wasting time. Ronan gave himself one brief moment to pull himself semi-together, forehead resting against his left thigh, before focusing and taking the blushing head into his mouth. He sucked, tongue flickering. Adam’s body went slack beneath him. When he looked up, Adam looked down, and the contact there was enough to make his own cock jump beneath him.

God, he loved this. He’d missed doing this. He loved cock, the way it tasted and felt, filling his mouth, pushing insistently against his gag reflex. He loved the thatch of darkness at the base, the bracket of bronzed hipbones, the stretch of flat stomach rising above him. He loved Adam, and he especially loved the way his mouth hung open, water running down the side of his jaw, his eyes intent and familiar and focused entirely on Ronan’s. He loved the way Adam raised a brow, just slightly, before reaching for the back of Ronan’s head, pushing more of himself into him, gentle but tenacious. It was sexy. It was maddening. It was making Ronan’s heart thunder.

Desire crested in him like a tsunami. Adam was throwing his head back against the wall, thrusting into Ronan’s mouth in small, tight circles. The tip of his cock was rubbing against Ronan’s upper palate every time he pulled out. Ronan gripped his thigh, insane.

And then Adam really did pull out. And stayed out. Ronan reached for him, trying to close his mouth back around him, but Adam’s hand held him back, and he looked up. Adam had a hand pressed to his forehead and a look of horror on his face.

“Fuck,” he said. “Fuck, fuck. Fuck, I have a test right now, oh my god.”

Ronan stared up at him. “You have got to be kidding.” His voice was gravely from letting Adam fuck his mouth. Adam couldn’t –

“I have to go.” Adam blinked down at Ronan, his mouth open, and then he snapped into action and was switching off the water and stepping away from Ronan in one swift movement.

“No. No way. No fucking –” Ronan broke off and swore voraciously, gripping the side of the shower with one hand. He was still on his knees. Adam was getting dressed.

Ronan stared at him. It would be an exaggeration to say his heart was breaking.

But jesus fucking mary christ.

“Adam,” said Ronan, and Adam must have heard something in his voice because he stopped pulling on a sock and paused, coming over to Ronan. For a moment, his expression was more apology than panic.

“Fuck, Ronan, I’m sorry.” He pressed a brief kiss to Ronan’s mouth, cheek, brow. “It’s just – the test – it’s 80% - I swear I’m not trying to – this time –”

“It’s okay.” Ronan sighed into the kisses and squeezed his eyes shut tight. “Just – I get it. Go. Alright.”

“I’m sorry. Seriously. I’ll make it up to you. I just need to – I really –”

Ronan pushed on Adam’s shoulder. “Just go. Good luck with the test.”

Adam nodded fervently, pressed one last kiss on Ronan’s shoulder, and was then grabbing the other sock and disappearing out of the bathroom. Ronan stared at the wet footprints on the floor and sighed heavily. He reached for his cock.

This was really getting old.


The next time, it was because Blue walked in on them.

“We’ve got dunkin' donuts –” she announced as she swung open the door, and then her eyes popped and she clapped a hand over her mouth. “Holey moley, fuck, sorry –”

And she disappeared back into the corridor, the sound of hysterical giggling and a confused Gansey spilling in through the still ajar door.

Ronan groaned loudly against Adam’s bare chest as he started laughing, wheezing as he fell back against the mattress.  

“That time,” he finally managed to say, once he’d calmed down. “Was not my fault.”

Ronan glared up at him, which only seemed to set off another round of giggles. Adam bit down on his lip, hard.

“Urm,” Gansey’s voice teetered uncertainly into the room, although Ronan could hear the amusement in his tone. “We do actually have donuts. When you’re done.”

“Fuck off Dick,” Ronan growled, and pulled his hand out of Adam’s pants, slumping back onto the bed next to him in defeat.

“It’s not my fault you’re not getting any,” Gansey’s voice said smugly, and Ronan threw a pillow at the door. Adam was laughing again.

“Who even says holey moley?” said Ronan, flinging an arm over his face. “Who?”

Adam rolled over and kissed the arm covering his face. He was grinning brilliantly.

“Next time,” he said. “Next time, I promise.”


They were rolling in the bed when Adam’s eyes suddenly fluttered open and he gasped. Ronan licked at his sternum. There was a set of freckles there that reminded him of the cancer constellation.

“I just – I just thought of something,” Adam was saying, his voice breathy. Ronan reached up and attacked the soft right under his chin, sucking it between his teeth. When he looked up, Adam had his thinking face on.

Ronan growled and dipped down to bite the lobe of his ear. Adam’s hand idly stroked the top of his spine.

“Are you close?” he murmured. Ronan came back up and raised his eyebrow. Adam looked appropriately chastised.

“It’s alright,” he mumbled, rubbing two fingers back and forth over one of Ronan’s inky vertebrae. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right, it can wait.” He reached up to kiss Ronan, and Ronan let him for a few brief moments, before pulling away. He sighed and rested his head on Adam’s chest.

“Alright,” he said. “Just tell me.”

Adam’s arms squeezed around him, and then he wriggled, scrambling to get up. Ronan watched him, head resting on his arms, as he located a piece of paper and a pencil. He came back to the bed, setting the paper down on the mattress and started to scribble over it.

The sunshine was golden honey on his hair, antique ivory on his skin. He had one lip between his teeth, a deep indent between his brows as he worked. Ronan felt something settle and go quiet inside of him.

“What is it?” he asked eventually, his voice languid. Adam glanced up, eyes clear.

“It’s,” he held the paper up, revealing a circle with a set of tree-looking squiggles inside of it, “for my tattoo.” He smiled a little, flushed. “I was just looking at yours and it hit me –”

Ronan reached for the paper and Adam handed it to him. It looked better close up. It wasn’t finished, not even close, but the idea of it was all there. Ronan squinted, considering.

He looked up. Adam was watching him, bright as a lightbulb. Ronan gestured for him to give him the pencil. He did. Ronan sketched a similar thing underneath it, with heavier lines, taking the ideas and letting them flourish like wildlings. When he was done, Adam was watching him, and his gaze was warm.

Ronan flung the paper towards him. Adam looked at it, and his eyes went wide. “That’s,” he paused, taking it in. “Ronan. It’s really good.”

Ronan shrugged, reclining against the pillows. Adam looked up from the drawing to him.

Ronan,” he said. “It’s really good.”

“You don’t have to get it like that,” said Ronan. “I just wanted to –”

“How,” Adam was blinking at the paper again, and then setting it down, crawling over to him. “How do you…make things like that?”

Ronan shrugged again, his arms an open flower for Adam. Adam settled on his lap. He was still staring at Ronan like he was something wondrous.

“You’re a genius,” he whispered, and then leaned down to flutter a kiss against Ronan’s nose. “A madman.”

“Says you,” murmured Ronan. “Mr. Scholarship boy.”

Adam smirked and then pushed him back further against the pillows. Ronan was smiling, despite himself.


The tattoo artist – Greg – was wiping the remaining blood from Adam’s chest as he talked. “Remember,” he was saying, setting the guns and cloth back on the metal tray. “It’s basically an open wound. So nothing strenuous. No sports. No stretching. No sex.”

Ronan slumped into the spare stool and raised a brow at Adam. “Wow,” he said casually. “I wonder what that would be like. Not having sex.”

Adam snorted and rolled his eyes, looking away and out of the window. Greg raised a brow at Ronan.

“For at least a month, anyway,” he deadpanned, and then rolled his tray away, heading towards the desk. Adam met his gaze again, cheeks ruddy.

“Really?” he asked. Ronan clasped his hands and leaned forward, smirking. He nodded at the tattoo.

“How’s it feel?”

“Alright,” said Adam. He sat up gingerly. “How’s it look?”

“Hot,” said Ronan. Adam rolled his eyes again, and he laughed.


Half a month later, Adam had him pressed up against the back of the door.

“It hasn’t healed yet,” Ronan protested against his mouth as Adam tore his shirt off, and then made for Ronan’s zipper.

“It’s fine,” said Adam, voice muffled, his wonderful hands an unstoppable force. His mouth was a natural disaster happening on Ronan’s collarbone.

Ronan let his head drop back. He huffed a laugh. “Eager, huh?”

“Shut up,” Adam smirked exasperatedly at him as he finally got his zipper down. His hands got inside, wreaking havoc. “It’s been a fucking while.”

“And whose fault is that?” murmured Ronan, raising a brow. Adam rolled his eyes.

“Yes, yes, point made.” He levelled Ronan with a look. “Now are you going to let me suck you off or not?”

Ronan grinned and tugged at his shoulders, pulling him close. “Are you sure you don’t have any homework?” He whispered, heavy-lidded. Adam pushed him off, sighing as he kneeled down.

“You’re never going to let it go, are you?” he muttered as he hooked two fingers into Ronan’s waist band.

“No,” said Ronan. “Once a cocktease, always a cocktease.”

“Right,” said Adam, raising a brow, and then descended onto him. Ronan let his skull thump back against the wood.

Well. Maybe not always.