marlowemuses | who could ever learn to love a...

Entry tags:

who could ever learn to love a...

39 Excelsior Place was the oldest house on the road.

In fact, 39 Excelsior Place was the oldest house in the neighborhood. Through the years Henrietta, Virginia had mostly kept up with the times. Old, decrepit homes were replaced with bright white houses and wooden fences. The convenience store went from locally owned to a chain. The schools got better. Wifi was available in almost every pubic place.

39 Excelsior Place did not keep up with the times. Crouching darkly at the end of the road, squatting fiercely in its dead end, the house was every bit the past it came from. Tall with gothic architecture, unwelcoming pointed gates, and black bricks the hollow eyes on its gray and white face. Huge windows were long covered with sheets, as had been most of the furniture. Once upon a time the house had been beautiful. Once upon a time, however, was a long time ago. In 2016, most people stayed away from 39 Excelsior Place. Smartly so. Its resident monster hated everyone.

Everyone except for its sole resident, elderly Mr. Greerish. Greerish said he had a family. Nobody ever game to visit so the monster called him a liar. Greerish placidly made excuses, such as They’re very busy and It’s been a while since we’ve caught up. Apparently Greerish had a favorite nephew: a baby when they last met. It had smiled at him once. No one else in the family smiled at him.

The monster called him an idiot. Greerish laughed and returned to his books. That was how they found the old man dead. With a pleasant smile and a book in his lap.

Fine. The monster didn’t care about Greerish anyway. It had only just begun to tolerate him. With his death, 39 Excelsior Place would be free of pests and the monster could hide away from the rest of the world until it eventually died. That was what happened to monsters. He’d read the old books Greerish kept so neat in the bookcase. They all ended the same. The monster was killed, burned, staked. The handsome prince got the princess. Or, in the monster’s personal interests, prince. Not that it mattered.

What the monster did not know was that there was a Will. A thing that had been executed by the local priest out of pity for old man Greerish. There was only one stipulation.

Everything I own, including 39 Excelsior Place, will be so inherited by my nephew, Adam Parrish.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Ronan's stomach pitched when he heard Adam respond to his advances. God, he was hot. So, so hot. Even the books Ronan had purused in vauge interest a few times, pictures of men, even stories, didn't get his blood boiling like Adam did. The way his breath hitched was sexy. When he cursed, Ronan wanted to curse, too.

Adam was dangerous, and Ronan loved it.

"Me neither," he murmured, nipping at Adam again. "I've never... "

"Never in all your centuries?" Adam teased, though he didn't really think it was centuries. "God, you're irresistible."

Groaning low, Adam leaned back so that he could tilt his head and catch Ronan's lips for a kiss. He needed Ronan, and all his thoughts of going slow slipped away as he became increasingly addicted to kiss after kiss. Ronan made him feel like he was electric, skin tingling and heart pounding.

Each kiss was like a new breath of air. No, never in all of his centuries—or however long it was, now. Not once. It was like he was waiting for Adam, for this incredible boy who thought he was irresistible.

Kissing Adam was intense. There was no room for thinking about anything other than him. Kiss after kiss, heat between them increasing, his heart was thundering madly in his chest.

It was so addictive that he could feel himself begin to lose his grip on the form he was holding. His nails became sharper, and, in a panic, he pushed back, shoving his fingers between the cushions of the couch to hide them. Panting, eyes closed, he willed himself to focus on his human shape.

Adam paused, confused, because Ronan's arms had just pulled away from him, leaving him cold, and Ronan was tense beneath him. He lowered his arms carefully, resting them against Ronan's chest as he tried to figure out what had just happened. "It's okay. We can stop."

Gentle and careful with him, Adam kissed his cheek, rubbing his hands over Ronan's shoulders to help calm and ground him. "Tell me what's going on."

"This—"

Fuck. He didn't want to tell Adam. He wanted to be his boyfriend, to be happy, to live together like normal humans did. Have a simple life. Grow vegetables. Have dinner.

But Ronan wasn't a normal human. He wasn't human at all. Biting his lip, he cursed, still struggling with his hands in the cushions.

"Fuck. Fuck." Grimacing, he finally looked up at Adam. "This isn't my real form. It's... shit. If you knew, you'd be horrified. I'm a fucking monster, Adam. What are we doing?" There was a sad, desperate look in his eyes. "You deserve better than this."

"Ronan, calm down," Adam said, rubbing his hands up and down Ronan's upper arms. His voice remained calm, and he stayed right where he was on Ronan's lap. He was pretty sure that Ronan was too protective of him to throw him off.

It wasn't really that much of a surprise that Ronan's true form was a monster. He'd said as much, calling himself a monster more than once, and Adam had known he was a shapeshifter. The question had tickled at the back of Adam's mind, but he hadn't yet needed to know.

"Ronan, I like you because of how you behave. I like you because you planted a garden for me. I like you because you're so gruff on the outside, but you're so sweet to me. I know you, Ronan. I see you. Trust me."

Adam was logical where Ronan was emotional. Being calm was hard and he struggled with it, flexing his fingers in the couch until he felt them return to the way he wanted. Then he tugged them out, shoulders relaxing.

Trust me. He wanted to. Wanted to so badly, because Adam had proven himself time and time again, but he was combating against Ronan's intense self-hatred. He was a nightmare. Who could love a nightmare?

"You don't want to see," he promised.

"Well, now you're gonna have to show me," Adam said, skimming his fingers over Ronan's scalp, massaging gently to calm him. "You brought it up, and now you're going to be freaking out about it until you know for sure."

He kissed Ronan's forehead, giving him a warm smile. "Listen, I need you to be a little bit patient with me, okay? I don't know what you're going to show me, so I need you to not freak out for at least a few seconds if I'm spooked or startled. I know it's you. I want to see."

Carefully, he got up, suspecting that it would be better if he wasn't touching Ronan for this. He held out his hand to help Ronan up, holding his eyes. "I want to know the truth."

He didn't want to show Adam.

Quiet on the couch, Ronan stared back, unblinking. Face impassive. Ronan didn't want to lie but he most certainly didn't want to show Adam the truth, either. Not in the middle of a beautiful day.

Knuckles white, he bit the inside of his mouth and swallowed back a few loose curses. From her spot on the couch Chainsaw was silent.

Then he stood on his own, shoving his hands into his pockets, "Not now."

"Okay," Adam said, worried. It felt a bit like a rejection, how Ronan had brought it up and then refused to show him. He understood, logically, the reasons for both, but it still hurt, and it left him wondering.

How awful is it? What if he really is a monster and I can barely stand to look at him?

"Are we still..." Adam reached for him, tentatively, then stopped himself and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I still want you to be my boyfriend."

The corner of Ronan's mouth crooked upward a tick, and his expression softened.

"I'll be your boyfriend as long as you want me. I want you, Adam. That's not gonna change." Glancing toward the basement door, he studied the handle, suddenly thoughtful.

"There's something I want to do. Help me?"

Adam relaxed visibly, giving him a smile. "Yeah. Of course."

He gave Ronan a quick peck on the cheek, willing to trust him and happy to wait for as long as Ronan needed, as long as they were still together.

Curious, he followed Ronan down into the basement, looking around at all the piles of stuff. Most of it looked worthless to him, shittier even than the wobbly and moth-eaten furniture upstairs. "I guess my uncle never threw anything away. What is all of this?"

Ronan snorted.

"The old man couldn't be parted from anything of his. Just like someone else." He shot Adam a look before continuing to wade through the junk. "Most of it is garbage. Some of it you could probably sell or refurnish." There were old chairs with the stuffing popping out, tables, boxes of books, and even a violin with no strings.

The deeper in he lead, the more the things began to change. They were odder and older. Pieces thrown about, like someone had been breaking things on purpose.

Ronan stopped in front of a brown trunk. It was padlocked, but the odd thing was that it was completely smooth. There was no place for a key.

"My father was murdered in this house," he said flatly, "and this is all I have left of him."

"We'll do a yard sale," Adam said, poking at some of the junk. "Or turn it into firewood."

He grew quieter as they moved further into the basement, where he saw some of the devastation from what he assumed to be Ronan's temper.

So that was the murder that had been mentioned to him earlier. He reached out, winding his fingers together with Ronan's as they looked at the chest. Whatever Ronan needed, he was here.

"I don't know what's in there," he finally continued, reassured by Adam's fingers interlocking with his. "I think he left it for me to find once I was old enough, I've never opened it. Tried to once and couldn't figure it out. Never tried again after that."

Ronan pressed his lips together and then looked at Adam.

"I need you to help me open it."

"Okay," Adam said, pulling Ronan a step forward. He sat down in front of the chest, carefully running his fingertips over it. It was full of either secrets or an inheritance. Either way, Adam was achingly curious, and he wanted very much to help Ronan to find his heritage. "So what have you tried already?"

"Prying it open. Obviously didn't do shit." Moving into a squat beside Adam, Ronan watched as Adam ran his fingers over the front of the chest. "Looked for somewhere to stick a key. Don't even have a key, so that's stupid. Then I tried breaking the lock itself. No go. Then I gave up. Figured that I wasn't supposed to have whatever's in there."

Reaching out, Ronan rubbed his palm across the top of the trunk.

"What unlocks a lock that can't be unlocked?" His dad was clever. What was he expecting Ronan to figure out?

Adam smiled, glancing over and watching Ronan as he considered the lock. "I don't know. But once you decide, you can probably dream it."

His eyes were warm, trusting that Ronan was more than capable of opening the chest. Whether it had been his father's or whether it was meant for him, Adam was sure that Ronan would figure it out.

Ronan grunted, prodding it with an index finger unhappily. "He always dreamed impossible things," he said, tugging the lock and lifting it, giving it another thorough look. "He was good at it. Everyone wanted to buy the things he found." He dragged the word found, because Niall Lynch never found anything at all.

"I suck at it. I don't fucking know what I'm doing most of the time."

What would his father do? That was what he kept asking himself. Niall Lynch would have an answer to a keyless lock in an instant. Ronan kept chewing the fat.

"... Point of all this is," he said, "that ... I think I can show you my real face after I've gotten this open."

"Point of all this is that it's important to you," Adam said, pressing his shoulder against Ronan's. "It's all you have left of your father. Dream a key that will open a keyless lock. Although I don't know what that would look like."

Adam had never been a part of something like this. This was different from Gansey's adventures. Gansey had never really needed him. It didn't matter if it was him with Gansey, or Blue, or Henry. Which was why Gansey was off with them, and not Adam.

Ronan needed him.

Ronan did need Adam. And not only needed—he wanted Adam. Glancing between the other boy and the trunk, Ronan's eyes mainly lingered on him.

"Me neither," he said, wrinkles forming in his brow as he pursed his lips. "I can't dream it if I can't figure it out. I have to know what I want, what it'll do. That much I've figured out. Helps if I know its makeup, too, but sometimes I can get away with bullshitting it. You never used the vacuum, by the way."

Not that Ronan was all that focused on leaves.

"I'll think about it. I haven't tried to, in a long time."

"The leaves can wait," Adam said, shifting and leaning back to lounge across Ronan's lap. "Are we going back upstairs while you think about it or staying here in case you get any ideas?"

Laying across Ronan's lap made him feel wonderfully happy and safe. He closed his eyes for a moment, then tilted his head, reaching out to gently touch the lock. "It must be a dream thing. A lock with no key. If it was any other kind of puzzle, anyone could solve it. Only you and he can dream things like that. Whether it was his, or whether it was meant for you, it must be a dream thing."

"It has to be," Ronan agreed instantly. "He never would have used a normal padlock anyway." When Adam lounged across his lap, he put his hand to rest on top of the other boy's head.

"It won't open unless I dream something to open it. Or, maybe it follows some kind of dream rule. I dunno." Rolling his head to work out a kink in his neck, Ronan groaned, frustrated. "We can go upstairs while i think about it. Dusty and shit down here."

"All right." Adam got to his feet, reaching out a hand to pull Ronan to his feet.

Tugging him in close once he was on his feet, Adam smiled up at him, tilting his head and taking a soft kiss. He pulled back after it, watching Ronan's eyes with fond trust. "You'll figure it out, Ronan."

Kissing was still new, and the moment Adam's lips touched his he felt warm. He wanted to kiss Adam a thousand times and then a thousand times more. But he didn't trust himself. Not when it made him want to let go of the control he held over his form.

"If you say so," he muttered, glancing to the side as his face took on some color again. Having someone believe in him was new, too.

Grabbing Adam's hand, Ronan lead the way to the stairs. "Come on. Chainsaw's probably making a bigger mess out of those leaves."

When the arrived at the top of the stairs, Chainsaw was still sitting on the couch, waiting for them.

"Try the vacuum."

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject