WHO: Ronan and Adam Lynch WHAT: Uh, Ronan decides that today he's going to be really feeling his biceps and Adam is both Concerned™ and weirdly into it. WHEN: Morning of February 11, The Barns WARNINGS: None, just absolute ridiculousness STATUS: Complete
Ronan had no reason to think anything was weird. He felt good. He felt great. He looked great too. All day, he'd been passing by reflective surfaces and stopping to admire his beautiful biceps. It was winter and he usually at least wore a flannel, but goddamn. It felt like a shame to hide those puppies today. He ended up shivering through his morning chores in a band tee with the sleeves cut off, but the power of love - and like ten gallons of piping hot coffee - kept him moving.
Now it was time for a break, so he headed inside. He kicked off his muddy boots by the back door and made a beeline for the first-floor bathroom. There they were, looking back at him in the mirror. That muscle definition. That sloping shape. He flexed this way and that, never even bothering to shut the door. Eventually, he stopped posing to kiss one of his biceps.
"Fuck, look at you. So damn sexy." He was very clearly talking to the bulge of muscle in his arm. "I could write poetry."
If Adam had been awake when Ronan left to do his morning duties, he might have noticed the extreme clothing choice during winter. If Adam had brought breakfast out to Ronan while he was working, he might have noticed that Ronan's brain was not focused on mucking out stalls. Shit, if Adam had left Ronan to his own devices this morning and decided to do his homework at the library instead of the couch in the living room, he might not have gotten to experience whatever was going on with his husband.
He heard the backdoor open, and Adam lifted his head from his textbook to take his own kind of study break—usually a quick exchange of kisses and soft conversation—but Ronan didn't stop. He didn't even pause in the living room. Adam could almost explain it away as Ronan really needed to take a piss, but the door to the bathroom didn't close.
There was a moment of worry that Ronan injured himself on a piece of equipment and didn't want to make a big deal about it, but as Adam approached the bathroom, he did not expect—
"What?" Adam couldn't stop the question from coming out. Poetry? "Are you...? Who the hell are you talking to?"
“These beauties, obviously.” Ronan barely looked at Adam as he flexed with both arms up. His smile was dopey and lovesick. It probably wasn’t that different from his wedding day smile. Love had a way of softening all his edges, after all. All his edges but the sharp lines of his muscle definition, anyway. He shifted, making a pow noise as he flexed pointing the other way.
“Don’t be jealous. I can love you both equally.” He did manage to actually look at his husband this time. Still had a dopey ass face on, though. “You wanna kiss one for good luck?” He moved closer, putting his bicep near Adam’s chin.
Adam was at a crossroad: be concerned that Ronan was inexplicably in love with his arms—not just narcissism but something more absurd—or allow Ronan to burn through his sudden adoration for biceps. Adam's eyes narrowed, his mouth twisted into a dubious expression, both amused and slightly frowning, as he gently put his hand on Ronan's proffered arm and pressed away from his face. He was not kissing his competition for luck.
"So I'm rivals with, what? Your muscles? Your arms? I want to ask if you hit your head but I'm not sure if that's the right question," Adam said, unable to resist that love-sick look Ronan had (usually) reserved for him. "Did you walk into a weird flower bed? Maybe inhale something you weren't supposed to?"
And then, like his brain finally caught up, he added, "I'm not jealous by the way." At least, he didn't think he was. He squeezed Ronan's bicep, considering. Maybe.
Ronan made a small noise of offense and pet his arm, as if apologizing for Adam's refusal. A part of him could feel things were dumb, but it was like that part was whispering and the rest of him was shouting BICEPS, all caps. He wasn't sure he'd have fought it if he could. He'd earned those muscles with daily shit shoveling, thank you very much. The least he could get was a gorgeous pair of biceps as a reward. Weren't the hippies on the internet always preaching about self-love anyway?
"I'm fine, Parrish, Jesus Christ. Jealous and suspicious." Ronan grinned and started to lean over to kiss Adam, but got distracted by the squeeze of his arm and worse, the glimpse of it in the mirror. "Ok I am…shockingly into this. Are you sure you don't want to kiss one?" He turned around to present the opposite arm to Adam, keeping his hand low this time to flex close to his ribs. "I mean, come on. That's a fucking work of art. Where's your phone? Take a picture."
Adam was not in love with Ronan's biceps, but they were achingly nice to stare at. He took a long, fortifying breath because this whole thing was stupid, so incredibly ridiculous, but holy god. Something was clearly wrong, and the logical part of Adam's brain was trying to figure out what exactly caused this. But the lizard part was clearly latching onto the jealousy and Ronan's need to flex his muscles in his direction. He wanted that almost-kiss to be a real kiss.
His eyes were trained on Ronan's arm, not looking up, mumbling it is a work of art, before adding, louder, "But, listen to yourself. You sound not right. I don't need to take a picture of your arm. I need you to—okay, you have to stop." Adam placed his hand on Ronan's bicep again, as if to hide it from the both of them. Like it was some distraction, to the both of them.
"When did this new obsession start? This morning? Just now? Is it only your biceps? Have you tried not looking at them?" Oh, that was an idea. Maybe there was the visual component. "Close your eyes. Are you still thinking about them?"
It was a bit of a roller coaster for Ronan, hearing first what he wanted to hear but then all this relentless badgering. He sighed. Adam's brain was one of the hottest things about him. But right now, he wished his husband would just rub on his biceps and take his clothes off.
"I don't--I'm not obsessed." He was trying to crane his head different ways to see under Adam's hand before he realized he could just turn back to the mirror and see his other arm. He smirked at his reflection. "I mean, I guess I've been thinking they look really good today. But they always look good."
Normally, he loved Adam telling him to close his eyes. It usually came with a sexy surprise. He was pretty sure that wasn't going to happen now. But if he refused, his stubborn husband would be really intense about it. He sighed again and closed his eyes.
"I still remember how incredible they are, dumbass," he said. "Happy now?"
"Just give it a second, maybe it needs a moment to fully go away," Adam said, but that was mostly for his benefit. He was trying to work through what else could have possibly happened, while Ronan wasn't compulsively checking himself out in the mirror. Meanwhile Adam's hand—hands—were running down and over Ronan's arms, his shoulders, his biceps, down to his wrists. Maybe there was something Adam was missing. He did not want to think this new turn of events was permanent.
"I'm not denying that they look good by the way, so don't get that stuck in your head." Adam entertained the thought that he could have been too harsh. If Ronan was just really feeling himself today, Adam was more or less killing his vibe. But poetry?
Almost resigned, Adam nudged at Ronan's side, a cue to open his eyes again, because he had another idea. "If I kiss them, will that get you to shut up about them for a bit?" This was Vallo, magic made things weird, and maybe it was a Princess and the Frog situation, or something close. Adam was willing to try anything.
Ronan did as he was told, but not without an undignified snort and a raised eyebrows like he was mentally saying see, nothing's changed. The stroking helped keep him in place. God, Adam's hands were always going to be a Thing for him, but Adam's hands and his biceps today? A Very Big Thing. With the nudge, he squinted one eye open and smirked at Adam.
"Now we're talking," he leered unapologetically. "Even if I know you can do better than they look good." It was almost like he was challenging Adam to be the one to write the poetry. But he was mostly just teasing his husband. His favorite pasttime. Well, tied for flexing today.
He stalked closer to Adam, erasing what little space their guest bathroom allowed in this old house, and hooked one around Adam's shoulders and lifted the other close to his face. "Only one way to find out though, babe."
"I can offer a haiku, maybe a dirty limerick, but that's pushing it, and I'm not Catullus," Adam said, attempting to talk his way through what he just promised Ronan. Kissing his biceps. It's not that Adam was against it—he had done it before, multiple times, when they were doing the mutual worship of each other's bodies behind closed doors—but now? This felt like giving into something, rewarding this absurd situation.
Ronan wasn't helping by crowding into him in the bathroom, making sure he couldn't duck out. Maybe it was better it was Adam who found Ronan and not Blue, who would rather stab him than kiss his arm. This could have ended poorly.
"If this doesn't work," Adam started, giving Ronan an imploring look, "we need to come up with a contingency plan. Like not flexing your arms for an hour. Or say only nice things about other people and not your biceps." He wasn't suggesting, he was telling Ronan that was happening, as he leaned in and laid a kiss on Ronan's muscle. Probably the most chaste one he could manage. It didn't even seem like he was trying. "Well? Anything?"
"You're way sexier than Catullus, babe," Ronan scoffed. Despite his apparent fascination with his own arms today, he was no less himself. That meant both equal parts in love with his husband and a giant pain in the ass. His self-control wasn't non-existent. It just reacted predictably whenever an opportunity to lovingly annoy Adam cropped up. He waited impatiently for Adam to kiss his arm before proving it though.
"If you think I'm going to walk around saying nice shit to other people just because you gave it a sad little peck, you're on crack." He leaned forward to kiss Adam on the mouth, pressing him against the wall for a long moment. That was about as close as he was going to get to an apology.
"Look," Ronan sighed, as he broke away, "just let me…what the fuck is called? Feel myself today. I'm not hurting anyone. I know you like the view too." He winked, just for punctuation.
Adam had a snarky response—something akin to well Catallus has been gone for two millennia, so he hoped he was sexier than a dead Latin poet—but the kissing helped stop his train of thought. Just for a second, just enough for Adam to forget that his husband was possibly under some harmless spell that wasn't actually a problem. Wait, no, it wasn't a problem except for his own intense jealousy. Really, when it was put down on paper, Adam was the one that sounded ridiculous.
He sighed with Ronan, said "I'm not answering that," and promptly put his hands back on Ronan's arms. Fine, yes, he liked the view; he always liked the view. But now he thought—maybe it wasn't enough? Maybe he was underappreciating Ronan's biceps?
"Fine, but if you're going to be feeling something other than your arms, let me be there to feel it too," Adam said, stealing another quick kiss. Only after realizing his slip of tongue, did he add, "I mean, I should be the only one there to feel it."
Ronan laughed smugly. "You can feel whatever you want, Parrish. You know you'll be the only one." He poked Adam in the ribs before he gave his reflection one last appraising look. Normally, he had to be bullied into using sunscreen but this time he collected the bottle from behind the mirror and pressed it against Adam's chest.
"Come on. You can slather this shit on me before I head back out. Maybe it'll inspire that dirty limerick you promised."