He wakes up in a startling gasp. Air not finding it’s way into his lungs. He can’t breathe and he’s sobbing in his web of tangled sheets. Caught like a fly by a spider weaving nightmares into his mind.
It's dark still. A soft illumination of 3:25am glows faintly across the room on the night stand near the opposite side of the bed. The dark bundle of limbs is stirring next to him and he isn’t sure he can recover from the visions in his dreams. It felt real..more real than any dream should ever feel and it has his insides cracking like fragile ice across a frozen pond, the weight of it all too much for him to carry.
“Ronan?” a voice calls out to him from somewhere in the shrouded darkness. It sounds further away than it should and he can feel himself collapsing like a dying star from the inside out. A hand slips slowly from the base of his neck and into his hair, fingers weaving through curls, then up up up until a warm hand is cupping his cheek.
The groggy voice speaks again, this time right near his ear. Hot breath and fiery skin push close against him. “…Hey Ronan, love. What’s the matter, what’s wrong?”
And Ronan can’t . He can’t. He’s breaking. Falling and drowning and the next he knows, he’s clutching at the skin of Noah's back, pulling him so close into his chest it feels like he’s carving a secret sanctuary where he can tuck this beautiful boy into a place where nothing can ever touch him. His face is at the hollow of Noah’s throat and his tears are pooling in Noah’s collarbone.
Ronan tries catching his breath so he can speak. But when he does, it still falters. “ …you were dead, Noah. You were gone and you were dead and I couldn’t touch you.” he confesses into Noah's throat..right into the pulse point that’s beating a strong steady rhythm. Each thump pulsating, a-live, a-live, a-live, it’s saying. And Noah’s voice is gentle and strong, soothing and reassuring. “Ronan, no, no. It was a dream. I’m alive. I’m here, with you.” and Noah's hands are traveling across the still tightly tensed muscles in Ronan's back, trying to alleviate some of the pressure.
Ronan, still fixated on the flesh jumping in Noah's neck, proof of his life, not his death. “ …And you didn’t know me. Not like this.” Ronan whispers, unsure if Noah can hear him, unsure if he understands what he means.
A beat of silence slips away before he hears “…like what, Ronan?” Noah's question is tender and soft and full of confusion and something about it and the dream, make him more desperate than he’s felt in such a long time. He can’t form the words to explain, finding himself sliding his hand from Noah's back, across his chest. Stopping over his heart, feeling it kick up a tick from Ronan touching him there. Noah, staring at him in the darkness still waiting, asks again, “…like what?”
The question sounds more awake than before, huskier, and Ronan can feel even beneath the blankets around them, the solid press of Noah into his inner thigh. And Ronan wants to cry all over again and laugh and swear so heavily because Noah is alive. Noah was always alive. And safe. And Ronan, encouraged by the sensation of Noah touching his thigh, slides his hand away from Noah's heart and down down d o w n… until his fingers brush the cotton hem of his pyjama pants.
“Like this, ” Ronan all but whispers, hand disappearing beneath the material and Noah's breathing staccato's wildly in his ear. His skin is smooth and warm from sleep and Ronan can’t help releasing a small groan, that’s half cry when his palm passes soft hair and Noah breathes his name. It’s almost a phantom sound and he thinks he could have made it up if it weren't for the air escaping his mouth, forming Ronan's name and fanning across his cheek.
The memory of his nightmare, of his boyfriend not remembering this, when this is all Ronan will ever know and has ever known, pushes into him and he’s leaning into Noah, guiding him back against his pillows. He’s heavy lidded, making soft, ethereal sounds of want that are urging Ronan not to stop. He’s laying on top of Noah, leaning his weight on his left side, his right hand stroking Noah’s skin and fabric of his pants. When his fingers graze Noah’s cock, an almost imitation of a touch, so light and delicate, it’s close to being as unreal as his dream. Noah’s "yes yes yes’s" are doing unimaginably wicked things to Ronan’s insides. He’s so turned on because his boyfriend, the love of his God damn life, the most alive person he has ever known is here. Flesh and bone and heat and heart and he’s panting his God damn name as something so sacrilegious and yet holy. It's like a confession of a sin and a divination of the holiest of scriptures and Ronan isn’t sure he himself isnt going to spill, untouched.
When Ronan finally wraps his fingers around Noah's cock, it’s second nature. Ronan doesn’t need light to see because this is something so ingrained in his being, so important in the make up of his cells that he could do this every hour of every night and he has. For years and years, as long as he can remember, it’s only ever been him and Noah and this muscle memory is a life force all it's own, beating in his chest and Ronan doesn’t know why but he leans into Noah's throat and licks at the jumping skin. His pulse pounds, heart caged and trying to beat out of his body to get to Ronan. Noah wraps one of his bare, reed thin legs around Ronan’s, like wild vines twisting around one another. Noah’s preaching words of love and praise, then threats of shaving Ronan’s head if he stops. It's a funny image. Noah shaving his head. He’s not sure how he’d feel about that but he doesn't worry because nothing could ever stop or take him away from this.
He twists his wrist just the way he knows Noah loves, and when Noah’s loud groan escapes, Ronan’s free hand rises, covering Noah’s mouth.
“You’re going to wake the neighbors,” he teases, smirking dangerously, sliding a few fingers into Noah's open mouth. When Noah closes his lips around his fingers, sucking, Ronan shivers.
Noah pops off them with a rather gratuitous slurping sound that’s so vulgar and wet and so obnoxiously Noah that Ronan is threatening to laugh again but Noah’s raspy voice intersects.
“Fuck. Ronan, you know how much I worship your hands but, - uhh fuck- if you wanted, I’d wrap my lips around anything you’d want me to right now.” Noah curses with another move Ronan always swear by when getting him off.
Ronan is tempted for a second. But no. This is about Noah. Ronan kisses his cheeks, up to his nose and finally his mouth, slipping his tongue inside to taste the stardust that made this boy. Which, strangely enough also tastes like strawberry starburst and it makes his heart bubble with love. “You forgot to brush your teeth again, huh?” Ronan smiles into Noah's jaw.
Noah's breath is ragged and uneven and he’s unable to speak. Ronan knows he’s close but Noah answers “uh huh”, nodding his head laughing. Eyes closed, amused.
Ronan’s mouth travels back down to the reminder of Noah’s life. Mouth covering his pulse, Ronan sucks greedily. Licking, kissing and biting. Keeping the touch of it’s beat on the tip of his tongue. Noah swears one last time and Ronan knows this is it. This is all he’ll ever need. Noah breathless, incoherent and spilling warmth eagerly into Ronan's hand.
Ronan is laughing when Noah is finished and shoving at Ronan to wash his hands. Complaining of being gross and sticky and follows up with a “hurry up, jerk I don’t want to linger in my own cum forever!” It has Ronan running back over, kissing Noah hard and telling him “Don’t worry, you won't be, that’s my job.” as he wipes a finger of Noah's spend onto Noah’s face, before licking it off his cheek and heading to the bathroom to clean them both up.
He flicks the light on and can see Noah’s reflection smiling back at him. This carefree, effortlessly joyful punk with a infectious smile on his face.
Noah is alive. He can’t fathom a world where it could ever be otherwise. He is alive and the loudest firecracker of a boy he’s ever come across. And together? Well together they ignite and explode into the biggest and brightest display of euphoric happiness anyone has ever see.