deconstruct | v2 OPEN POST;

[ A burst of snickering is let out against Ronan's jaw, completely unconcerned about the mess between them, feeling nothing but utterly satisfied and warmed with what love they've born between them - friendship and something a bit more. he isn't sure what the definition ought to be, nor does andyr particularly care. ronan is ronan, and that's enough covers all of it for him. ]

I think I'm okay with that. You think you can dream up some conjoined twin pants for us?

[ Grinning like a dork, he leaves another couple kisses against Ronan's shoulders, and strokes down his sides, over his hips and thighs, and back up, before tucking his arms to wrap behind ronan's shoulder blades, hugging at him tight. in a little while he'll grab something to clean them up, but for the moment, he just wants to bask in the afterglow of it. hold ronan tight to him and breathe all of this in.

except, his ass (and ports) are going to start getting cold soon, so an arm reaches out to yank at one of the stray blankets, and andyr tugs it up to drape over the both of them, before tucking his arm back around ronan and snuggling in. andyr nuzzles against his neck, just under his jaw, affection flooding through him that he feels so compelled to shower ronan with. ]

Thank you. [ he murmurs, quiet, against his cheek. not sure what all he means, but it's definitely more than just the intimacy. ]

[Ronan laughs at the idea of conjoined twin pants, and he files it away as a potential gag gift sometime in the future, when Andyr least expects it. For now, there's no way he's going to dream. He's too wrapped up in the present, too happy to remain filthy and trapped beneath Andyr's body. It only gets more comfortable with the blanket around them, and Ronan settles in with Andyr cradled against him. Reality is so much better than what waits for him in sleep.

Andyr's gratitude takes him by surprise. He glances down, unsure of what he's meant to say. It's not like he did Andyr a favor. Ronan can only answer jokingly:]

You did most of the work.

[His fingers weave through Andyr's hair, and he presses a kiss to Andyr's forehead. Really, though, Ronan thinks he's done nothing praiseworthy. He merely took what he wanted. A selfish act, if anything.]

Edited 2016-12-11 14:19 (UTC)

[ ronan had been exactly what andyr needed, exactly when he needed it - a friend, a confidant, a bright soul to connect to and bury himself in. care and love and kindness all rolled up into one body. a friend. andyr would say he'd been just as selfish in wanting this, and taking it, but they'd both been careful with each other, hadn't they? regardless, that's a deeper talk than andyr could ever get out of himself, so he only laughs instead, nuzzling against ronan's neck fondly. ]

Fine, so I guess if we do this again, it'll be your turn to roll my fat ass around while I just soak it all up, huh?

[ which is a lie - andyr's far too busy bodied and energetic to just lay back and absorb someone else's attentions. regardless of if ronan had been more experienced or confident or not, he'd likely have acted just the same. it's just a bad habit of his to aggressively take control of things.

but in this, everything's already done, and there's nothing else to look to manage but lounging around and enjoying the warmth between them, indulging in the worn, tingly feeling all through his limbs, and the fluttering happiness that comes with each touch ronan gives him - the hands in his hair, the lips to his forehead. he feels absolutely pampered, here, and there's no will in him to give it up quickly. ]

Psh, fat ass...

[The idea is highly appealing, though. He'd been too timid to give Andyr as much attention as he deserved, but if - no, when, honestly - they do this again, Ronan intends to make it something far more enjoyable for Andyr. There's so much he wants to try, so much to explore about Andyr's body.

He finds the chain of Andyr's dogtags, twisting it idly around his fingers in the same way he tends to play with his bracelets. When he realizes what he's doing, he lifts the dogtags themselves to examine them. He'd assumed they were Andyr's, and when he sees they're not, he sets them down again without asking.]

I know. Gotta get back to working out, huh?

[ which is a joke, he knows he's built as hell. he's made a point to be, and already squawked indignantly at steve rogers for suggesting otherwise some months ago. feeling the tug at the chain dangling from his neck, andyr glances down at Ronan's hands, and the plates he pulls up to his eyes. they read "PRINCE, STEFAN", a blood type, a number, and nondenominational. ronan doesn't have to ask, andyr supplies it regardless. ]

My dad's. He was a spec ops officer, before Mom passed. Retired to take care of me and my sister. [ which is where all of andyr's combat know how and lethality comes from - Stefan Prince had made certain to prepare his son for the cruelties of the world. As much as he could, at least. Andyr's eyes drift from the tags to Ronan's hands, then to his wrists, with the worn leather wraps there, looking like they've been gnawed at and ripped up over the years. Not wanting to move his arms from where they're curled around Ronan's smaller frame, he dips his head forward, biting at the edge of one strap and giving it a light tug - a question in the motion, that could also be ignored if ronan preferred not to answer. ]

[It's difficult to imagine that Andyr ever had a family, given the pieces he knows of Andyr's history. It means too much went wrong, and too much got torn apart, and it's even more painful than imagining that Andyr was created in a lab somewhere. Ronan hums softly in response, and then the attention's turned to his wrist.

This, too, is difficult.]

It's nothing.

[Or maybe it is. It feels foolish to talk about. All he can remember is waking up in the hospital and having to try to explain it to Gansey, to the doctors, to the psychiatrists.]

My dad was murdered. I found the body. A few weeks after that, I tried to kill myself.

[Not the way most people assumed, but the end result was the same. He's realized now what it all meant, the self-loathing that manifested through his nightmares. How harmless they became once he stopped longing for death, in the months before the demon corrupted him again.]

My wrists were wrapped up for a while, so I started wearing the leather over them and just... kept wearing them after I got better. I guess I just like playing with them.

[ Andyr's listening quietly, realization of it all dawning on him, and it's something achingly familiar to him. pulling a hand up, andyr's palm wraps over the bracelets at one of ronan's wrists, thumb caressing over the skin underneath, at his wrist, and for a long moment he's silent. When he starts to speak, it's quiet, soft, something only the two of them would hear, pressed this close together. ]

My dad and me, we went to get my twin sister from Hapsburg. We found her, but... she shot him. Point blank. Turned me in to the labs.

[ Staring at his still body on the cold tile of the House, and back to Jehanne's blank, emotionless expression, it had felt like a nightmare. all the way, dragged through the halls, kicking and screaming, until they'd stripped him down and strapped him to the lab table, he'd been praying to just wake up. by the time the next hour had eclipsed, he'd already lost hope. ]

Spent about a month in there before I got my cell, and after that they... did stuff. [ His voice croaks at the end of the sentence, and there's an involuntary shake that goes through him, despite all andyr tries to hold down. if he'd thought andyr was some kind of fearless before, he hasn't seen this. just trying to assign words to it, just letting the memory of it sift up from the dark corners of his mind he shoves it all too, is a physical terror that creaks through him. in the end, he hides from it, doesn't explain. only swallows back against the ache in his throat, and skips to the point. ]

Two months in, I tried to hang myself. Almost managed it, but there's cameras everywhere. Guards got in and stopped me. [ for the last six years, he's wanted to die, that's the secret he doesn't tell any of the others. they won't let him. he knows the agony in that - of wanting so just lay down and be done with it, but not being allowed. he knows what urges that leaves lingering, and he wants ronan to know he isn't alone in it. ]

You still want to, sometimes?

[There aren't words to ease a memory like that. Ronan knows. Plenty of people tried, after his father's murder. They showered him with all kinds of sad words, pitying words, reassuring words. Hopes and promises for a better tomorrow. Bullshit and bullshit and bullshit. Sometimes things are just horrible. Sometimes they stay horrible forever.

Of course, Ronan can only do slightly better when he puts his I'm sorry into a kiss against Andyr's temple. It's still inadequate. It's too late to save Andyr from his life, so in the end, Ronan is as useless as anyone else.

He doesn't have an immediate answer to Andyr's question.]

I used to think his death was my fault. Dad could have saved himself if he'd given me up. It would've been easy. I thought it must have been evil, the secret he was protecting. Whatever he was, whatever I am... If evil people wanted us so badly, I figured we must be evil things. That meant the world was better without me in it.

[Ronan's voice doesn't shake. It's soft and contemplative, marveling at how he seems to have come full circle. After all, he does carry something truly evil inside him now.]

I didn't understand my real responsibility back then. I thought it was just my life on the line. But it's not. If I die, everyone I've created goes with me. So it doesn't matter what I think about myself. I have to protect those lives. As long as I can, at least.

[ things that scar you that deep never leave - that's what andyr knows. that's what being on the moira has taught him. maybe it's in the past, maybe you're far removed from it, but it's still in your head, on constant replay. all the worse for ronan, whose mind is so much more vivid and real than andyr's. no, there aren't words to make it better, or to erase it.

but ronan's hardly useless to him - no, he can't fix what's happened, but he's giving him reprieve now. He's put a bright, soothing light into and otherwise dim and violent life, and it's a memory that'll keep andyr warm and strong for years to come, he thinks. Just knowing he had Ronan once. That this beautiful, gift of a boy cared for him and loved him, once. Somewhere in the multiverse, he'll know this was true, and feel a little less alone, and a little less empty. Just that small piece of something could be enough to save him, some days.

what ronan tells him about his reality, about what paths his mind has taken and where he's left now - not particularly wanting one thing or the other, but knowing an obligation, is a sad truth, that Andyr can understand all the same. lifting his head, Andyr's hands caress over Ronan's cheeks again, pushing back over his hair, and repeating the motion, as he kisses his forehead, and then over his eyelids, and finally, his lips. ]

You're good, Ronan Lynch. [ he tells him quietly, holding him like something sacred and precious. ] You're noble, and kind, and caring, and brave. You're a nurturing creator, and a devoted protector, and no matter what's coming for you, or what you might fail to do, you will always be good.

[ Their foreheads press together, and Andyr aches to be able to do something for him, even knowing he can't. it's a fight he doesn't have the power to butt into, but so fucking help him, he'll be here to hold onto him and remind him that he's loved, and that he's done right, to the bitter end of it. He kisses all over his face - his cheeks, his temple, his lips - murmuring to him in a too honest whisper. ] You're good, you're good, you're good, and I'm so goddamn proud of you.

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