Falling From Grace

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WARNING: Underage Incest. (Characters are around 14-16 years old.)
For the lovely and awesome maya_salazar and dustandroses. Many thanks go to the wonderful secret_nazgul for looking it over for me, even though O'Reily!cest isn't at all her thing. I probably owe her new eyeballs and a brain loofah.

Falling From Grace

by sistersleep

Ryan snuck into his bedroom through the window, leaving behind a night so late it had turned into dew and dimming streetlamps. He nimbly bent his newly long frame in from the fire escape, a silent move perfected from habit.

Usually, there were the added noises of Cyril right behind him. Not tonight.

One sneaking out alone was rare; they were usually bound up in everything together -- deals or schemes or turf wars. But they always left the rusty old ladder of the fire escape down for each other on the rare occasion one stayed out into the late night alone.

Quiet, strong, and sure, with a grin on his face, Ryan slid the well-greased window closed and made his way across the room in the dim light. He had wanted to stay out all night, fucking discovering. Discovering fucking. Finally gaining access to all the skin and curves he could mouth and push inside of. His for the length of the thrusts and the grind of their hips. At the same time, some of that worn out shiver under his skin had dragged him home, wanting to slip his tales into Cyril's ear.

Ryan had contemplated staying out with the girl, but it wasn't like he enjoyed her company all that much when they were only talking. Staying in an abandoned rundown building, in the dirty, empty apartment they'd fucked in all night didn't hold much appeal either. The added possibility that she'd get caught sneaking back in, and Ryan would catch hell from her father, convinced him to nix the idea completely. There was a chance Ryan would've run into his own father or mother dragging their asses home from the bar in the early morning, too. In the end, the desire to curl up and sleep with her, with a possibility of more action in the morning, wasn't as strong as the desire to get safely home (and weren't those two fucking words that didn't come close to belonging together when talking about *his* happy home) without getting caught and brag to his little brother.

There, sneaking in in the dark, Ryan wanted to share the rush, to see Cyril's face as he told him about his night. Thinking about it on the lonely way back had spiked an extra thrill in his veins. The tired excitement carried him home faster than he would have thought. Nothing like reliving his first time finally getting some real pussy and not just a nice long suck (not that he didn't fucking love that) by sharing it and savoring the feeling.

Ryan crept closer to the twin beds, keeping an eye on Cyril's. He could see the shadows and lumps forming his brother under the covers, dark blonde head poking out. Needed a fucking haircut. He got loud enough to wake Cyril, but no one else in the apartment. Sure, he was purposely disturbing his brother's peaceful looking sleep, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Ryan stood over Cyril's bed, feeling sore and raw. Fresh and wired. Felt almost like being high. That bright pure life and possibility trapped in his veins. He could only grin when Cyril snorted and that lump turned over, restlessly woken up by Ryan's noisy shuffle and an "accidental" kick to Cyril's bed.

"What time is it?" Cyril gruffly cleared his throat, rubbing his eyes with the whisper.

He didn't sound too pissed off. Well, not enough to be bothered by, anyway. Ryan glanced at the clock -- or at the nightstand between their beds where the clock was supposed to be, anyway. Shit, he kept forgetting their alarm clock was smashed up and probably on the floor somewhere. Cyril wasn't big on alarms. They skipped more school than they attended these days, hanging on corners instead of in classrooms. The fucking scary nuns and their Ma were the only things that kept them going at all.

It was too dark to read the small face of his watch, so Ryan gave up with a dismissive sigh, stripping it off and tossing it onto the nightstand. "Late. Or early, depending on how you look at it."

Another snort, this one a more alert mix of amusement and irritation, issued from his brother's bed as Cyril sat up, the sheet falling away from his bare chest. Cyril was starting to become the bigger one, working out and making Ryan start to maybe look scrawny. Motherfucker was planning on turning into a meathead. It would be good for fighting, though.

"You run into trouble?" Cyril's gruff worry showed before the fucker was even really awake. "You didn't go mess with those new cocksuckers without me--"

Ryan cut him off with an irritated gesture. He was too fucking happy to get too annoyed. "No. Wasn't Bridget Street related. Don't I tell you when I plan shit? Calm the fuck down."

The concern melted away, back to the half-awake daze. "How early is it?"

Ryan was close enough now to see Cyril's sleepy squint of annoyance. "Early enough for more sleep."

Ryan toed off his worn sneakers, stripping off his shirt with one last inhale of sweat and too much cheap perfume, before he threw it in the vague direction of the corner.

"Pops went to bed, bitching about Ma staying out late." Cyril informed him as Ryan undid his fly.

Ryan snorted this time. "'Went to bed', or passed out on the couch?"

Cyril shrugged with a smirk there in the dark.

Couch it was, then.

"He's got no right saying shit about her. Like *he* drags his sorry ass back home most nights? " Ryan immediately defended his mother while he pushed his jeans down. They were worn and scuffed up, shed and tossed aside for the second time that night. He kicked them away, finally stripped down to just the boxers he would sleep in. He felt more...naked that usual. But in a powerful way. "She's probably back now, or she'll be home with the sun soon."

Cyril laid back down with a long yawn, but it was more one of waking up than passing back out. "So, you dragging your ass in this late from your thing with Mary-Angela is a good sign then?"

Ryan grinned widely in the dark. "Oh, *fuck* yes."

Cyril laughed softly, both of them staying somewhat quiet. With the 'rents either not back, or both in the loving arms of an alcoholic stupor, they knew from experience that they wouldn't be heard unless they got pretty loud, though. As long as they kept from getting too rowdy and didn't yell. They knew what volume carried and when. When they were behaving too badly, like when they were playing years ago when they were kids, their fucking father let them know. Loudly and painfully. During the day, they had to stay out, or stay quiet. Night was pretty safe, though.

They avoided the 'rents as much as possible lately, busy caught up on the streets, forging a new life of fists, steel, desperation, and drugs. They promised each other they were staying only for their mother and the last few years of growing up and making their way. Long enough to gain some territory, some strength, a name, and to earn enough to leave. They'd be out the door by the turn of 18, if not before. They'd get some shitty little apartment together, side by side like they were in everything else.

"Not that I was complaining about that hoover mouth of Shannon's, but fuck, mmm..." Ryan drawled out his remembered pleasure. He still felt...dirty. The good kind with a pleasant hum trapped right under his skin. "Mary-Angela finally fucking let me up her skirt."

Cyril looked on expectantly, instead of taunting him. Which meant he wanted the story.

Ryan crawled into Cyril's bed to spin his yarn close and carefully quiet. He chose that venue because Cyril had made room for him. He'd slipped over to leave half of the bed empty as soon as Ryan had started talking, and he threw back the sheet in welcome as Ryan moved to climb in.

Ryan slipped under the sheet with him, turning on his side to face Cyril, who did the same. The sheet was thin, thicker blanket tossed off near their feet, but he was cocooned in the warmth of the bed, fed by the heat Cyril's body had generated while he had slept.

"You're going to miss the blow jobs." Cyril taunted lightly.

"Probably." Ryan chuckled softly, sharing the pillow. "But Shannon didn't give 'em up that easy in the first place. And how would you know exactly what I'm missing, anyway? You holding out on your big brother? Found some girl that likes sucking cock?"

Cyril shook his head with a weary sigh. "Nah. There's Jane, but I'm her first. She's only jerked guys off before."

"*Her* first.'" Ryan mocked, rolling his eyes, cuffing Cyril's bare shoulder. "Like she wasn't the first girl to let you in her mouth."

"Shut up."

Ryan was riding high on a wave of cockiness. The word cock right in there had never seemed more appropriate. "I know I'm right, don't even try to lie. You wouldn't have kept that from me."

"Yeah, yeah. You're always right, just shut up about it." Cyril shoved Ryan's shoulder in return, a warm hand on his overheated skin. The cool walk home hadn't done much to dull that, even if it was mostly in his head. Cyril paused for a second. "It gets better, right? Because otherwise, either you're into pain and drool or you have no rhythm if you like that shit."

Ryan couldn't help but crack up, bending with the laughter. In the small bed, it caused him to bury his shakes and breathless laughter against Cyril's skin. He heard Cyril's annoyed huff, feeling the soft thump of a hand on his head before he pulled back, hands up in apology, laughter trailing off.

"Yeah, she was pretty bad, huh?" Ryan commiserated softly. Cyril had told him about it at the time.

"Maybe she should talk to Shannon." Cyril floated the idea jokingly.

"Good luck. Shannon ain't talking to *me* right now." Ryan smirked. "Trust me, once she gets in a groove and learns not to scrape the shit out of you with her teeth, it'll be fucking heaven."

"Yeah. I could definitely feel the potential." Cyril settled into his pillow more, but didn't look like he was planning on sleeping any time soon. That was good with Ryan; he was too amped up, even if he was a little drained. He'd gone past exhausted to wired.

"Mmm-hmm." Ryan assured him with another pleasurable hum, thinking of Shannon. Fuck, he was going to miss her. For more than just the way she gave head, even. Now her, he liked spending time with, no matter what they were doing. And she got along good with Cyril. They'd get back together though, he knew it. He just had to let her cool down and then charm her back.

Cyril shifted a little, eyes locked on Ryan's in interest at the grin on his face, the scent on his skin, and his pleased hum.

Well...if his little brother wasn't getting any that was really good, the least Ryan could do was share. He could still feel the fading buzz under his skin, lying happily loose in Cyril's bed. That nice liquid melt to his bones. Relaxed and warm right down to his balls. He wanted to revel in tonight anyway; he could work his way up to Mary-Angela. He could feel the sated ache in his dick. He felt spent, but almost like he was waiting to rev back up for another chance. Now that he'd had more of a taste, it just made him hungrier.

"Yeah. You get a girl who can work it. One who likes it. Shannon wouldn't let me in her pants, but fuuck, she didn't hold back with that." Ryan turned the memories over in his mind. Her silky dark hair under the palm of his hand as he slid into her mouth. His mouth followed the path of his brain, unrestrained here with Cyril. "All that wet heat wrapping around your dick. Mmm. Beats your hand by a fucking zillion miles."

Having Cyril's complete, enrapt envious attention made Ryan grin, still feeling high. "Just the right rhythm. She's got to wrap her lips around her teeth so it's just one smooth long suck in her hot little mouth."

His grin shifted into a sly smirk. "Shannon has the best fucking mouth. You've heard her when she's pissed off. The talent don't stop there."

Ryan felt the gust of breath and shake of the bed as Cyril laughed softly. Ryan let his eyelids flicker shut, thinking back on the night.

"Mary-Angela though..."

"She's got better tits." Cyril commented, clearly impressed.

Ryan nodded while his eyes slid back open, head rubbing into the pillow, as he softly bit his lip. Sore from Mary. "Bigger. Shannon's got nice tits, though. They're smaller but they fit right in your fucking hand. Mary-Angela, now she's more than a fucking handful. She wears those nice tight sweaters, too. Always half unbuttoned. I got her out of that first. Nice hard little nipples. You should have heard her moan when I used my tongue."

Cyril was quiet except for shallow breath, listening, spurring Ryan on. Leading him to the good parts too fast. Wasn't the way to tell a story. But he couldn't stop his mouth, the spill of the hot memory, shifting and changing a little to suit the audience. Turning the night into his very own Penthouse letter.

"The way she was kissing me, I was thinking I might get a blowjob. After we worked up to it a little, I slid my hand up her skirt. Knew when she let me do that that I fucking had her. I was rubbing her soft skin, sliding up her inner thigh, you got to be gentle Cyril," Ryan added the helpful tip as an aside. "She came right out of the tight sweater and I buried my face in her tits. I sucked one of those hot little nipples into my mouth -- and those sweet thighs of hers just parted for me, so fucking smooth."

Each word brought him closer with the necessitated nearness of his soft voice, until he could feel Cyril's hot breath right on his face.

"She saw how fucking hard I was in my jeans and just kept going. She was nice and wet by the time we stripped." Ryan shifted slightly, still excited and riding the rush, body flushing with remembered heat. His words were derailed for a second when his knee accidentally brushed against the evidence of Cyril's interest in his story.

But Ryan had known even before that that Cyril was getting off on the tale. He had felt it in the husky breath, the look in his brother's eyes. Like when they had shared stolen pornos or talked about what they had done or wanted to do with chicks before. Ryan stayed unfazed to make sure Cyril did too. Ryan...didn't mind it. Never had.

Ryan just smirked, letting his knowledge of Cyril's predicament show. He let a brief gesture of his hand be interpreted however Cyril wanted. A secretive go ahead. Saying anything would just embarrass him. Which, had it been any other night, Ryan might have ridden him about it. But he didn't feel like being that cruel tonight. He let his gaze focus past the sharp strong curve of Cyril's shoulder in permission, taking off the heat of prying eyes a little.

Kept right on talking, speeding up and skipping parts without being able to help it. "Mmm...she stroked me a little while she worked up to it. Gotta stroke her a little first, too, you know. Make her tremble. Man, she was so fucking tight when I slipped inside of her. She was panting for it."

He heard the quiet rustle of Cyril's hand sliding down, felt the movement. They both knew that sound. Skin on skin. Wrapping around a hard ache. It was a fucking small bedroom, after all. There had been plenty of nights with those sounds right in the next bed. A few shared experiences over porno mags, an exclusive circle jerk or two with just them in the room.

Close enough to *feel* the jerk of Cyril's hand, Ryan was hard again himself. Couldn't help it, he was flushed and warm all over again, like he was right back there tongue-fucking Mary and slipping his hand under her skirt. It wouldn't hurt to help himself to a little more relief.

Ryan kept talking, thinking about tight, sweet Mary-Angela wrapped around his cock and moaning for him, his hand slipping down as his words carried the slightest stutter from it. His words stopped completely with a hitch of breath as he got more contact, freeing his cock, sliding his boxers down instead of just pulling it through the slit. Liked to let his balls hang free, easier to cup them. He started up a smooth stroke without even consulting his brain. More slick flesh on flesh noises joining Cyril's.

Lucky Cyril may have been all fucking comfortable on his left side, but Ryan was lying on his right. Not the most comfortable or easy for jerking off when you were a righty. But Ryan didn't give a fuck at the moment. Didn't feel the awkward compressed ache of his arm -- just his fist sliding slowly over his cock. Hot-wired and sensitive, even now, ready and wanting again.

He saw the look on Cyril's face when he started. Amused. Neither of them stopped. He wasn't even talking anymore. No more down and dirty bedtime stories, just the feel of skin and need keeping them going.

Close, breathless, and grinning, they sped along. Together. Building fast and sticky and hot there in the cramped bed. Ryan felt the good long tugs with a bit of ache to them. His cock had been busy earlier...but it was still sweet and perfect. Unstoppable.

"You smell like her." Cyril breathed, straining.

Ryan just grinned, it was shaky from his own touch. "Mm...I smell like fucking. Her and me."

As their breath rushed, they leaned into it. Into each other. For support. Heads tilting towards each other, resting his forehead against Cyril's. Wrapped up in that warm reflected breath now. Stifling, but so fucking good. Ryan rubbed his thumb over his cock on the upstroke, driven to all the little tweaks that made it best. Felt the tiniest brush of skin that wasn't his before his hand slid back with the stroke, ever increasing in urgency.

Ryan gasped with that intensified burn in his blood, lips staying parted on a long breath of half-shock when his lips brushed Cyril's with it. They just...fell into it. Without thinking beyond Ohfuckyes and the ache for a mouth.

This specific mouth, a dim part of Ryan's brain insisted.

Oh fuck, he could feel his brother's groan between his barely parted lips. So gentle. Like if they just --bumped-- noses, and lips, and teeth and tongues, it didn't count.

But ohhh...it did. Because it felt so fucking good. Spreading the undeniable heat through his body impossibly faster like a sudden spark to a trail of gasoline. It sped up his strokes, feeling Cyril match his reckless pace as their fists knocked together on the down stroke know. Sweaty perfect hit of knuckles.

Cyril panted across Ryan's damp lips, stopping the kiss but not the now desperate jerk of hands. "Fuck...Ryan... can't..." Low and broken, straining towards something else entirely.

"N-no?" Ryan couldn't help the unsure crack beneath the acknowledgment that turned it into a question more than an agreement. Fear and need tumbling with each other at Cyril's halting. Even as he wanted to stop too. Mind and blood were two different things. Tugging him in opposite directions like hands on cocks, side by side.

What was supposed to be right for everybody else and what felt right to him never had quite matched up for Ryan. He --they-- did plenty of bad shit and never felt guilty about it. But he hadn't even realized this particular brand of wrongness was alive inside of him until just that second. Maybe he hadn't wanted to. But it looked like for once, Cyril didn't agree with Ryan's feelings about something. Ryan bit his lip to hold it in as he just couldn't stop the slide of his hand in tandem with his brother. If Cyril was disgusted...then it was too wrong even for him.

But Ryan didn't stop staring...and he saw it. Cyril's eyes darting up from where they had been downcast in shame, suddenly locking with Ryan's at the words and the slip of his lip between his teeth. Just for a second, Ryan could focus and really see Cyril's eyes clearly before the blur of such close proximity took over again.

Cyril's breath hitched, and it wasn't anything like disgust. Ryan was wrong, Cyril was right there with him like always.

"Fuck it." Rough needy growl of words from Cyril proving it--

--before he was surging forward in a sloppy collision of a kiss. Ryan gave in completely to that sound, meeting him with the same heat and another shaky grin that Cyril just swallowed up. Mouths joining on pure purpose this time. He didn't even notice the soreness of his lips for the ache.

Falling into that mouth. Falling into the stroke. Heat and sweat. Faster and faster. The taste of Cyril's mouth, cheap toothpaste and sin, didn't slow him down. Couldn't keep him from leaning into the slide of skin and bump of fists, nerves alive and perfect heat pooling in his balls.

Too fucking much.

Too fucking far.

As long as he kept his hand sliding over only his own flesh, leaving his only contact with Cyril's body to the brush and bump that came naturally with his movement in the close space. Accidental. Unintentional. It didn't matter what his mouth was doing. How the kiss drew out, losing the violence to another kind of aching fervor. It was nothing but need for something to spur on the slide of hands, something to lick and suck and do with their mouths. Another accident of proximity.

Wasn't long, lost and thinking of nothing but the feel of his cock, before he was coming onto sweaty skin and shared sheets, feeling heat and splash that wasn't his own. Grunts mingling like mouth and tongue, his teeth scraping his brother's bottom lip. Felt like he was being drained and left beautifully raw again.

The night crashed in on him, leaving him too tired to do more than roll onto his back, feeling Cyril move with him, bodies still brushing, feeling different than that ever had before, no matter how close they had always stayed out of instinct and comfort.

The blur of the dim room came back into focus, long bodies crammed into the small bed next to each other. But it never felt crowded in the bad way. Felt like someone by his side, close enough to support him. That was the same. They caught their breaths slowly. Quiet. Only a kiss, that was all. Didn't count. So fucking turned on, he would have made out with anybody.

Sticky cum stained their stomachs...and Cyril was staring idly at it.

"Do you think we taste the same?" Cyril's low voice pierced the dark with its strange casualness.

"You've tasted yours?!?" Ryan automatically sneered, riding his brother about it out of habit. Even as he couldn't look away.

But Cyril just rolled his eyes, unfazed and not shamed or cowed at all. "Oh, drop the fucking act. I saw you do it once too."

"You saw that, huh?" Ryan smirked and gave in again, much easier this time, cheeks burning despite his strongly confident, laughing tone. It had only been once, but Cyril had him caught. "Fuck off, I was curious." His voice was teasing as he softly knocked his elbow into Cyril's warm side. Focus on everything else.

Cyril lost the playfulness to intensity. A plea, with need hiding deep inside of it, where only Ryan could hear it past the fronting of a younger brother trying to be smooth and gruff. "Well...I'm curious."

Oh.

Ryan found himself just nodding dumbly as he gave into that too...because of the dirty little buzz it brought to his spent cock. But while Cyril had enough balls to say it, it seemed like he didn't have quite enough to do it first. He'd spent it on just the words. It was up to Ryan to have the courage.

Okay.

Only curiosity, figuring out something together. They weren't getting off on it. Ryan reached over, so slowly, unable to move his hand any faster, his stomach giving a flip. It didn't stop him, just pushed him forward along with that heat in Cyril's focused eyes. Light drag of Ryan's fingers over Cyril's warm skin, catching some of that sticky whitish spunk on his fingers. Showing Cyril that it was okay if he wanted it. The rough drag of Cyril's fingers over his stomach followed quickly in response. His touch was warm on Ryan's skin too. Almost...delicate, like he was being careful for Ryan.

He couldn't stop his shiver, watching the dart of tongue to Cyril's fingers, as he licked carefully at the bitterness on his own fingers. Tasted the same, from what he could remember. Strange, almost unpleasant, but not enough to stop his mouth from seeking the last swipe of his hand. Compelling in a way that was so very fucking wrong.

Cyril's gaze was still burning his skin, and Ryan saw his brother's shiver, mirroring his from moments ago, right before Cyril leaned back in. The bed dipped and drew him into heat.

Cyril drew him into a kiss with that bitterness still on his tongue, meeting his brother's.

"Cyril..." The low-pitched gasp tumbled out of Ryan's mouth into Cyril's.

They weren't still...worked up. It wasn't a confused slip of rushed need this time. It made it more *real*. Not just the pure reckless drive of raging hormones making them misstep. Even though Ryan knew that had been a lie, he had been clinging to it. This was truth, raw and bare, shaking his grip.

Cyril pulled back just enough to stare. "What?" The word was needy but defiant as steel.

Ryan had returned the kiss with a betrayal of a moan after all, it's not like Cyril had any reason to be unsure of what Ryan really wanted. And he could see it in the challenge of Cyril's gaze. It was his turn. Cyril had crossed the line, taken the initiative where Ryan had just...slipped. It was Ryan's turn. Ryan gave in again, forever. Couldn't stop.

Soft peck of a kiss. Less than what he wanted, but so clearly far past fucking proper behavior that it was just enough for both of them. Their closed mouths cheating with damply parted lips. Not quite the flush and emotionless press it could be to somehow make it less fucking wrong. Instead of perfunctory, it was mouths fitting together like puzzle pieces. Soft, hot, perfectly overlapping together. Short, but with an undeniably sweet cling. That same buzz. The one that Ryan should have felt only with the girl from earlier, and never with Cyril.

Fuuuck. All the bitchy nuns on the rag and the Hail Mary's in the world couldn't help him clean this up.

Ryan's gaze darted down to bodies exposed by rumpled sheets as he ended the kiss, but the sight of spent cocks brushing legs and those remnants of semen made him whip his eyes back up, unfazed mask clinging to his face. Trying his best to be fucking normal, holding back. His carefully composed grin was almost shaky again, but he held on to it with everything he had.

"We'll get you a girl." Ryan promised, pulling things back to where they were supposed to be, to the subject that had initiated everything. Cutting everything else off before it started. "A nice tight virgin."

They were making a name for themselves in the gang; they'd be beating them off with a fucking stick soon. Sweet Catholic girls loved to mess with smooth dangerous guys, giving it all up before running home to the nunnery. Their grins mixing with their bruises, their steel tucked in waistbands and smooth words -- it would get them up plenty of skirts looking for a wild ride.

Cyril joined him in backing away, in the face of everything. Mirror image of Ryan's grin, down to the small false shake to it, but the determination was there as well. Cyril falling back to what was allowed between them. His brother's grin got stronger as they composed their breath, despite the shadow of something else still lingering there, as he acted offended. "I have my own fucking girl. I told you, I've been working her. It'll be a week tops. She already lets me up her skirt."

"Of course, you're fucking in." Ryan matched Cyril's anticipatory devil grin, but he couldn't drop that little shiver completely yet. He cloaked it instead. Like that made it any less wrong. "And afterwards, you can tell me all about it, right?" Kept his words steady, ignoring the fear hiding deep inside. Because it wasn't the right fear, not the fear that *this* would happen again.

Cyril's grin relaxed as he just grasped Ryan's hand in his strong grip. Saving Ryan from being alone in...everything...with a too intimate rub of fingers that felt just right. Playing along that line with Ryan because they couldn't not now. And all Ryan really gave a shit about was the fact that Cyril was there with him.

"Definitely." Cyril agreed adamantly.

*

Ryan didn't go back to his bed. They curled up close under shared covers. Familiar position from a childhood spent huddling together, unfamiliar situation. Cyril scooted back into him, pressing tight for warmth and comfort like they always had after a rough night filled with bruises or fear. Ryan's arm went around him automatically. Like it always had. They'd shifted position after cleaning up, Ryan taking over his usual side, Cyril just giving it up to him. Ryan outside on the left, both of them lying on their left sides.

They were back in quickly grabbed clean boxers, shirtless, nothing superficially new but what they now knew. What had come before. Ryan's stomach that had just had cum on it, almost a little damp still, was pressed to Cyril's back. That slight difference from their old resting position that meant everything.

"You know those tats?" Ryan broached as they drifted off to sleep slowly. They had been planning to get matching ones. Shamrocks, more about each other than the gang, but they hadn't decided where to put them yet. "We should put them here." Ryan suggested with a squeeze of Cyril's loosely curled right fist in his, stroking his thumb right above the soft flesh between thumb and forefinger.

Ryan could feel Cyril's nod more than see it, as Cyril threaded his fingers with Ryan's. "Yeah. Perfect."

***

A little over a week later, Ryan awoke to the shift of his bed, immediately invaded by close warmth. Cyril, Ryan realized as he slipped quickly from sleep to awareness, feeling heat that...smelled like sex.

Ryan knew exactly where Cyril had been. The world and the facts coming back to him before he even opened his eyes. Cyril had been out with Jane. Cyril had gotten what he'd been after finally.

"Sleep, Cyril." Ryan grumbled the demand. "I was sleeping. Fucking is supposed to make you tired."

Ryan felt the flinch against his back. Shit.

"Okay. I just wanted to tell you..." That heat withdrew as Cyril's voice closed off in rejection, and Ryan had never felt so chilled. "Never fucking mind, get your beauty rest."

No. Not what he really wanted at all.

"Wait..." Ryan turned quickly, unable not to, reaching out to grab Cyril and keep him there, catching him even in the dim light. "Yeah...tell me." Ryan hesitated, but didn't stop. "Tell me everything."

**

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