Work Text:
Ronan didn’t understand what Adam meant when he said, “You’re a lot bigger than me.” Which was stupid, because there was only one thing he could possibly mean, crushed up against Ronan and grinding into him everywhere, rubbing between his legs, pressing hard on Ronan’s chest.
The pressure was good, insistent, good. Adam had set his legs apart, one behind the other, like he needed leverage, like he was going to shove Ronan through the side of the building. The gritty brick exterior of the garage had torn a hole in Ronan’s thin, grimy T-shirt, was ripping up the skin of his back and leaving crumbles of mortar at his feet. It stung, harsh and hot; Ronan thought Adam might really hurt him, and he liked that. He didn’t care about the pain, but he cared about Adam worked up like this, rough and out of his head.
Sometimes, Ronan got hard in the locker room at the boxing gym. Once Ronan got hard after he took a hit in the ring and his nose bled all over the place, leaving stains on the canvas and down his shirt. He never cared about the pain, but he cared about the other guy, panting and wide-eyed, adrenaline sick after he’d crunched his fist into the bones of Ronan’s face.
Now, he was the one breathing fast and dumb, wanting hard, blinking and chasing after Adam when he pulled away. But Adam put his hand on Ronan’s cock and gripped it, squeezing tight through Ronan’s jeans. “Your dick,” he clarified. “It’s way bigger.” And then Ronan felt even stupider, because he’d gotten with the program but couldn’t take it further. So? There wasn’t very much blood left in Ronan’s brain. Adam sounded disgusted, a little taunting, when he added, “You probably weren’t expecting that.”
Ronan made a choice not to let his body sag with frustrated exhaustion. Fuck dealing with Adam’s competitive streak when his boxers were soaked with sweat and precome. “I’m taller,” he said neutrally. He snuck a quick glance down to see if Adam was hard, too, but he wasn’t. “I wasn’t expecting anything.”
A lie, sort of. Sunday night. It was hot as hell, the sky still twilight pink, and Ronan hadn’t heard a car pass for half an hour. Drowsy, degenerate August, just three weeks left until Adam moved to the city; go time, now, and they’d already wasted so many hours and days. Adam wanted to fuck him, theoretically. Adam had a small cock, theoretically, and Ronan liked that, liked both of those things. He liked knowing anything about what was under Adam’s clothes and in the weird grooves of his electric brain.
Ronan wanted to fuck Adam. Factually. This summer had gone on six hundred years too long.
“Mine’s small,” Adam said eventually. His hand had fallen away from Ronan’s body. “Can I blow you?”
Ronan blinked. “I don’t get to see it?”
“It’s not—” A sandpaper pause. “You won’t like it.”
Ronan’s mouth hung open. “The fuck?” he laughed. “Take your small dick out, show me.”
“Don’t be an asshole.”
“Do you think it’s small? Who told you your dick was too small?”
“No one. No one needed to.” Adam gestured at Ronan’s erection.“You clearly have a big dick,” he said irritably, “which is great, but mine’s nowhere near that, and it’s just… obvious, with you.”
Ronan did have a big dick, but he felt more indifferent towards it than most guys would assume. He wanted to say that now, but the urge was ridiculous. A nail in the coffin: Having a huge cock isn’t that cool, I swear!
It was finicky, this thing, and Ronan had memorized about fifty different ways to piss Adam off. Most of July had gone to learning the calculus required to keep Adam around and emotionally present. Ronan was used to alienating the people in his life, but he was new to whatever it was that Adam demanded: patience, some days, and at other times, keeping up. The judgment to know what kind of day it was.
Ronan was hot for it, this level of pain in the ass, the difficulty, how often Adam defied expectation. He’d blown past feeling embarrassed weeks ago, and now every simmering day was the same question: How much of him could I have? How far could I get? What does he want, what would he like? Adam worked at the garage, and Ronan just worked on Adam. He always got hard for the right kind of challenge.
And now, this: it was impossible not to picture Adam’s small cock. The fact that it was unexpected just made it all hotter and more heady, the texture of secrecy and disclosure, the potential to touch the rusted edge of Adam’s shame. Ronan could picture their cocks together, how they’d look and how it would feel... touching the tips together, seeing the fat head of his nudging against Adam’s. He wondered if Adam was cut, if his small cock got pink or red or darker tan. If it was tiny, just a nub, if maybe it barely got hard. If he’d let Ronan find out and touch everything, rub his face in it.
“I think I’d like it.” Ronan’s voice sounded serious, now, quieter than before. “It’s hot.” He swallowed, and the sound was awkward and loud. “I think I’d like to get fucked by a guy who’s cock is smaller than mine.”
Whenever Adam looked pissed off, he looked real fucking goddamn pissed off. “You’re so full of shit.”
“I want what I want.”
“Just let me blow you.” It sounded like Adam wanted to throttle him.
“Lemme do you first.”
Adam’s voice rose as he started to turn towards his shitass car. “You’re not going to like it,” he insisted. “Goddamn, Lynch, believe me for once.”
“How small?” Ronan caught Adam gently by the bottom of his shirt, tugging him back in close. Tight against the wall again, they could have a re-do, a do-over. Ronan had him right back where they’d been making out three minutes before, blooming and licking, and Adam would let him start the track over, he knew it. He was doing the math right, using just the right amount of tension. “Let me just feel it.”
He bent his head and bit Adam’s neck slowly. “I want you." Under his mouth, Adam wriggled with a complicated sigh. Around the side of the building, an air conditioning unit stopped running, unearthing the chatter of insects.
Adam unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, then moved his hands away; Ronan reached inside where he’d been invited. He’d tried to prepare himself, but it was still a little shocking: the absence, the nothingness in the place where his own cock would have filled up the space, tucked up and poking out at the waistband.
He reached further down and found it, pointing down, small but hard and hot. It wasn’t quite as long as his thumb, but it was thicker. When he tugged at it, Adam made a rough, warning sound, but Ronan felt sure that he'd liked how it felt. Breathing changed; color warped Adam’s collarbone, visible in the dying light. Something more, different than embarrassment.
Ronan held Adam’s cock, feeling the heat of it and kissing his neck. “OK?”
“OK,” Adam agreed. “You get it, now. It’s just.” He shuddered as Ronan squeezed him, and God, Ronan liked that. He wanted to touch himself, too. “Different.” Adam was forcing out the words, still quaking and tense. “Than yours. You don’t have to do this for me.”
“Can I look at it? I really want to.”
“Why?”
“I want to see us together.” And what a bare, newborn truth that was. If Adam would look him in the eye, Ronan thought, he’d see a lot. Maybe too much. How Ronan felt when those words came out—Might get him real fucking goddamn pissed off. But Adam was looking to the side, anyway, as Ronan pressed their bodies together and wrapped his free hand around Adam’s waist. “Let me look.”
“You—”
“It feels like it’s just for me.” Forehead pressed to temple, Ronan was rubbing Adam’s cock, slow and steady, in a circle made by his thumb and pointer finger. “You showing me, it’s just for me. It fits in my fingers,” he said, squeezing. “It’s mine.” Quickly, fiercely, Adam turned his head and found Ronan’s lips: an interruption, a respite.
Ronan wanted to go on, though. He didn't want to stop talking, because if he stopped talking he might have to stop touching, and if he stopped touching, he thought he might be sick. Too many chemicals with no where to go; his mouth was already moving. “What's it like when you piss? What’s it like soft? I bet I could get your balls in my mouth at the same time as this." He gave Adam another little pull. He marveled at how hard it was, the dense little cock now standing away from Adam’s body.
“Fuck me,” he said. He’d been thinking it since he first put his hand down Adam’s pants. He wanted to hear himself ask for it, and he wanted to see Adam’s face when he said it. He looked Adam in the eye and did it again. “Put it in my ass, let me feel it. Fuck me with it.”
A pulse of arousal flared as Adam shoved him; Ronan's head thunked lightly against the brick. “You wouldn’t.” Adam's voice was strained. “You wouldn't feel it. God, fuck you, Ronan.” It almost made Ronan smile, hearing Adam swear at him like he’d been doing all summer. “Let me use my fingers.”
But no, Ronan was stuck on it. He shook his head. He wanted it small, so tiny it could barely press in. He wanted to gag for that, spread wide and begging for it. He wanted Adam to dominate him with just his words and his hands and his small cock. He wanted to shrink his world down and zero in on the sensation. It’d be infuriating, he thought. He’d want it to go deeper. But it wouldn’t, couldn’t, and he’d train himself to need just a few short inches. He’d become sensitized to Adam, just Adam, so easily stimulated that he’d shake and gasp just to feel Adam pressed against his hole. The second any length slipped inside, he’d fall apart.
He wanted to live in Adam's palm, actually. He wanted to lick his work boots. He wanted to follow Adam to DC and sleep in a box in his closet. It was embarrassing; he wanted to be embarrassed.
He turned around and faced the wall, reaching down to unbutton his pants and shove them to mid-thigh.
Adam's voice was far away, behind him. “Your ass is too big, I won’t get inside.”
“Try.”
"Fuck you. Like, actually."
When Ronan reached back to spread himself open, he had to put his cheek against the grip of the wall in order to keep his balance. His face felt wet; that was sweat and the melting air. He'd been hard for a lifetime so far, probably, and when he talked again, it hurt, with all his weight leaned forward into his jaw.
"You're going to leave me out here, then? With my ass out for you, in the dark, to get fucking bit up by mosquitos while I beg you to fuck me?"
Footsteps crunched away on the gravel, out of sight, and Ronan thought for a minute that Adam really would leave him there, that he'd take his sore pride and fluorescent shame and stop answering Ronan's calls. The footsteps stopped, though, and Adam swore. A rock hit the wall two feet from Ronan's face, a small one. He watched it bounce off and take a chunk of mortar with it.
Ronan's cock throbbed and jerked a little bit as he clenched his ass. Fuck it, he'd fantasized about this even before he met Adam: being exposed like this, pants shoved down, all out in the open. He'd beg Adam to touch him if, he really would, if he thought that would work, but more likely, it was the opposite. "You wanna fight me about it? What are you so mad at me for?"
Adam's voice was right next to him suddenly. Adam's hands were on either side of his head. Adam's mouth was next to Ronan's ear, and Ronan was moaning—stupid, fuck, God, yes—before he even talked. "You really fucking suck sometimes," Adam murmured. His weight collapsed forward, squishing Ronan like a bug, his thighs shoving Ronan's ass cheeks apart, and there was that tight little dick nudging in, looking for Ronan's hole. Poking, trying.
It wasn't going to work. It wasn't big enough. Ronan re-gripped his own skin, pulling himself wide as hard as he could, hurting himself, humping at the wall. There was mortar and moss in his pubic hair and he was going to come soon, anyway, with his dick pointed down and catching on the elastic of his boxers. Stupid good, it was so hot and good, the way Adam smelled against him, the way he was thrusting, too, so mad about it, slapping the wall, muttering Fuck, goddamn it.
"What are you mad at me for?" Ronan ground the words out, jaw tight. "Come on me, just push it in after. I'm going to jizz all over this fucking wall and you're mad at me for it, huh? Because you wish you could come inside me?"
No time to stop talking, no time to breathe. Ronan kept going as long as he could, until Adam's body was violent and convulsive and wet spunk was spattering on Ronan's taint, on the back of one thigh. It was an average sized load, not small. It was the blood in the boxing ring. Ronan's lungs were exploding and Adam pushed it in like Ronan had said he should, scooped his come with one sticky finger and pressed it into Ronan's ass. Everything went white and and yellow and sparking in Ronan's vision.
"Jesus," Adam said. "Jesus, Ronan." He was rubbing his face into Ronan's neck, and Ronan felt uncertain, fizzy, like he was carbonated, like he was flickering in and out. One at a time, he lifted his arms up to brace himself, and Adam moved to hold him around his middle.
He wanted to live in Adam's palm, and he wanted to melt. He wanted to come, feeling Adam's come in his ass, feeling Adam tight around him, holding him all together. It was an effort to hold himself away from the wall, still pitched forward and panting. Adam reached one hand down to stroke him, and Ronan groaned.
"You're so big," Adam accused. He was muttering, still, but sounding different, all loose and sweet and tired. "How does anyone blow you? How does anyone deal with this thing? It's so big."
"It's not," Ronan insisted. His eyes were closed and he was close, close, close, twisting a bit now, turning, up on his toes, almost there, there, here— he moaned, apologetic. "I want you to like it, please."
He came all over the wall and Adam's hand. A big load, not average sized, which embarrassed him, and soon after he realized it was full dark and the mosquitos were thick around them. It was late and he was uneasy, and he wasn't sure why, really, when Adam was holding him so tightly from behind.
"I do like it," Adam said eventually. Ronan had pulled his pants back on and buttoned them, and the two of them walked to Adam's car. "I was just talking, I mean. I don't dislike your dick because it's bigger than mine."
Leaning back against the car, Ronan was irritable and tired. He felt impatient with Adam, now, wanting things to be easy. Wanting to trade places and trade dicks; wanting to start summer over again, so they could make out and fuck and have time, so he could recalibrate things and figure out what to do with Adam's small cock and all his prickling. All the fight in Ronan had drained out and splattered on the wall. He didn't want a challenge anymore, only sleep and ease and peace. He wanted to leap ahead in time to a future where they knew each others bodies and secrets.
But there was only the hot night and the shitass car and Ronan's heavy body. Adam stepped towards him and brought the heel of his hand to Ronan's face, right to the rippling frown between his eyebrows. He pressed, firm but gentle, smoothing out the skin there, and Ronan realized he had a headache that was soothed by the touch.
"Do you want to come home with me?" Adam had never offered this before.
Ronan nodded. "Yeah. Anything."