Sparkle and Shine (UNEDITED)

Ronan Elmore had never really understood the expression ‘the calm before the storm’ until the rocky atmosphere that saturated the candle-lit dining room seemed to crystalize beneath the withering look Adam Lang flung towards him.

Everything seemed to fall into a suspended timewarp; the spears of illumination that stabbed between them seemed to cease their wild dance, and the air thickened, swelling under the slow-burning emotions that simmered in the other man’s eyes. It had Ronan swallowing hard. Had him considering that perhaps, that just maybe, he’d gone too far this time.

Adam didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. The message was very clear: don’t say another word.

If Ronan was smart, he would have heeded that warning. Would have bowed his head and drowned his argument beneath a forkful of Chinese noodles. But he wasn’t smart, and he had a tattoo of a sprinkled doughnut on his hip to prove it.

The anger that had ridden him all day, the spite and confusion, the restless, soul-crushing need to reconnect, they settled on the tip of his tongue, soaking into the muscle with a venomous taint, ready to fire at will. And he tried to contain it. He really did. But the more he tried to force the wayward emotions into an orderly line of submission, the rowdier they became.

“I found out all the pictures I ever drew for you,” Ronan said spitefully, but an undercurrent of hurt had his words sounding feeble and weak, like a clumsy child reading his lines for the school play for the first time. “I found them, and I scribbled big, fat dicks on them, cuz that’s what you are.”

There was a time when such disrespect would have been reprimanded with a harsh, but apt punishment. There was a time when Adam wouldn’t have tolerated such disrespect, let alone the colourful language. But if nothing else, his reaction was just another score mark on the tally that proved that everything was changing; everything had changed.

In a violent thrust, his fists rained down on the table so hard that the plates jumped and one of the candle holders wobbled dangerously. His shoulders had stiffened, as tense as a snake preparing to make a killshot, and his mouth warped into a tight-pressed line.

And it was as Ronan froze beneath the first wave of the upcoming storm, as the other man’s anger bled from him like a severed artery, that he realised this was the hardest part. Not necessarily the fighting. When it came to love and war, Ronan had crowned himself the king of pettiness. Poking holes in the soles of Adam’s shoes so his feet got wet when it rained, unscrewing the lid on the salt shaker so it went ‘whoopsie’ when used by the unsuspected . . . yup, he had those antics down to a tee.

No. That wasn’t the hard part. It was that he still looked the same. He was still the same dark-skinned beauty that had swept in and stolen his heart. Still the same parma-tanned eyes that had once stunned him to silence. His name had been like a prayer that had filled every crevice of him, and his words, his silky tone, had been like Ronan’s very own lullaby.

But he wasn’t the same. Inside, something had changed. It had been a slow change at first, but then it had been like gravity, momentum building and carrying it down into an unstoppable decline. His moods became fouler. His patience, once saint-like, had become a thin wick that was attached to a dynamite stick.

And it had left Ronan feeling like a little kid presented with a big read button that read: DO NOT PUSH.

Yup. That was working out great for everyone.

“Ronan.” No purr of affection. No teasing, warning edge. Just cold. Hard. A tentative battle between rage and self-control. “Just for once, shut your mouth, eat your food and let us have one meal in peace.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, turning away from the untouched plate in front of him, Ronan fought the part of him that desperately wanted to obey; Adam had made it abundantly clear that he no longer wanted to be his Daddy, or was willing to tolerate him when he was feeling Little.

Which had been yet another trigger for tonight’s unpleasantries. The incessant reason why Ronan couldn’t just sit back and make nice for the sake of a peaceful evening.

He’d made him a gift. Spent hours at some dumb pottery class, learning how to mould clay and getting disgustingly yucky hands until he’d managed to create a dejected mug, and then he’d spent an entire afternoon painting it to perfection. He’d been proud of it. It had been so fun that he’d even slipped a wee bit. Which was where the problem lay. He hadn’t thought of it as a big deal. Had still kept it and tried to give it to Adam as a peace brokering between them; Adam had declared war.

Ronan hadn’t even cared that it had turned out so lopsided that it was unlikely that Adam would have used it. Hell, he didn’t even know if it was safe to drink from. He could have dealt with a polite thank you and the thing being shelved for life. But because he’d engraved the word “DADDY’ into it when making it, the gift had been unacceptable. Adam had refused to accept it. Shouted at him that they were done with that Little space nonsense and threw it in the outside trash can. It had broken. All his hard work had been for nothing.

And it was why for as much as he wanted to be good, for as much as he wanted to shut his pie-hole and just have an easy night, he couldn’t. The hurt still stabbed at him like a poison soaked dagger. Still drop kicked the air from his body every time he thought back to it.

“I hate you,” he whispered at last, shaking his head as the memory refused to submerge itself. The sound of glass shattering had his eyes springing open.

Adam had risen so fast that his chair had skidded backwards, the thing clattering to the floor, and one of the glasses of water had knocked over and rolled, hitting the hardwood. The poor pitcher’s wounds were fatal. He was dead on impact. Shards sprayed everywhere.

But it wasn’t really the glass he was worried about. Not when Adam pushed forward with a menacing stride, his beauty contorted beneath a mask of bitter annoyance.

“You’re done eating,” Adam said flatly, grabbing at his arm, yanking with enough force that his ass lifted from the spongy seat. His grip was harsh, and his fingers had tightened around his bicep almost to the point of pain.

Throwing his weight backwards, forcing his ass back to the seat, Ronan fought against him. Glass crunched beneath the soles of their feet during the scuffle, and a whine sounded, growing louder as Adam introduced more force.

If he’d been really trying, Adam wouldn’t have stood a chance. Or, at least, Ronan would have stood an equal one. They were size for size, Adam falling perhaps an inch shorter and a tad bit thinner, but it was irrelevant right then. He seemed to grow, becoming the monster that lived in dormant sin beneath his flesh. “Enough,” he shouted.

And just like that, Ronan stilled. His limbs turned to rubber, and when the next yank came, there was no resistance. And for a painful moment, the world slammed on the brakes and came grinding to an abrupt stop, and they were left looking at each other, frozen in time.

Adam was breathing heavily. His chest heaved. His nostrils flared. And for reasons logic was blind to, Ronan Elmore’s mind took him on a merry ’ole trip down memory lane. It bypassed all the neon memories, the ones woven with excitement and joy, and surprisingly even skirted away from the sad ones that darkened the corners of his head. It skipped past familiar, and pivoted around the cringe moments.

And the one it settled on, the memory it uprooted, it was a peculiar one. Apt, but odd. One that had him swallowing hard and trying to take a step back from his boyfriend. The grip on his arm shot that idea down.

Mrs Dodd hadn’t been among his favourite teachers. She had been sweet enough, but given his age when he taught her, and all the other influences that had come after her, she had faded to little more than a ghost in the story that was his life. But as the fragments of the past did the truffle-shuffle, she was yanked up and spun into high definition.

It had been a rainy afternoon. The sound had been deafening. The windows rattled from the gale force of the wind and the classroom was suspended in a limbo-- it was borderline chaotic, outside voices being used inside, and kids dashing between desks and chairs. He remembered how she looked, her pretty fiery hair bound in a neat bun, and he even remembered what she wore. And as his nose twitched, burning beneath the phantom scent, he swore that he even remembered what her perfume had smelt like.

He had been drawing. That was the important bit of the memory. It was the main focus. Seven-year-old him had created a masterpiece, a terrible beast with four arms and jagged teeth. And he’d been pretty darn proud of it. Coloured it in and stayed all the way in the lines. Scribbled his name across the top of the paper in neat, block letters like he’d been taught. And when Mrs Dodd had passed, her cheeks flushed and her eyes tired as she scolded Mikey Randall for jumping off the table, he had taken the opportunity to present his hard work.

He’d told her all about his monster. He’d named him and given him hobbies. Even let him have a mommy and daddy monster so he was never alone and scared.

Mrs Dodd had paused. Had gifted him her full attention. And instead of smiling and moving on, or throwing an ’atta boy, as he’d expected, she’d frowned. Then she had crouched down so she was level with him, her bright eyes scanning over the picture for the longest time.

"What makes him a monster?"she had asked.

Unable to understand her question, seven-year-old Ronan had glanced between her and the picture in unease. He’d found himself wondering if his drawing was not the masterpiece he seemed to think and was instead unidentifiable. So he jabbed at the picture. Pointed first to the ferocious teeth, and then at the three eyes, and all the other beastly prompts.

But she hadn’t shown the recognition he had hoped, and he had felt his heart sink as her frown intensified.

“The world is full of people that look different, Ronan,”she had said at last,“But that doesn’t make them a monster. You’ve drawn a monster, but you can’t tell me why it’s a monster.”

“Because it just is.”By this point, the seven-year-old was irritated. Hurt, even. He was struggling to see what was wrong with his creation. Struggling to see why she hadn’t smiled and proclaimed to love it the way she had all his other drawings.

“But he shares his toys with his friends. He’s smiling. You said he liked to build towers with his brother. He sounds like a nice little boy. He sounds like a lot of little boys I teach. He doesn’t sound much like a monster to me.”

She was dumb, he’d decided after she left. He’d kept the picture for weeks after, trying to figure out what she’d meant, but he gave up once he spilt his orange juice over it and ruined it. And that had been the end of it.

Until now.

What made a monster a monster?

“Come with me now, Ronan.” As Adam spoke, a sinking hit his stomach. Had him thinking that perhaps he knew the answer after all.

The candle-lit dinner hadn’t set the mood, as he had hoped. When Adam had said he was ordering take away because he couldn’t be bothered to cook, Ronan had taken the chance to try and make up for the poor gift choice. And at the time, he’d sworn he was really, really going to try. But the thing about emotions was they were lawless creatures, and they didn’t do well being forced into cages.

He’d tried, but hurt had slipped through the cracks, and unlocked the way for anger to follow close behind. As Adam steered him down the squat, narrow cloak of hallway, up the steep incline of stairs, directing him towards the house’s only bedroom, there was a part of him that was glad. A nasty, vindictive streak that was proud that he’d spoilt Adam’s dinner. That hoped he was hurting just as much as he was.

Don’t cry, Ronan chanted to himself as the bedroom door was opened and he was shoved in. The golden walls, broken up by dark navy, felt more confining than they did the palace of sparkles it had been designed to be, and as Adam stepped forward, his shoulders filling the doorframe and blocking his way out, it only made it feel all the more prison-like.

He wouldn’t cry for mean monsters. Not today. Not tomorrow. Monsters were not worth ruining eighty-dollar make-up.

“If you want to act like an ungrateful child, then you’ll get treated like one,” Adam said coldly, jaw ticking as his arms folded across his chest. “Don’t bother coming back out. I don’t want to see you for the rest of the night.”

“I’m not ungrateful.” it was all he could manage to whisper. His throat burnt, the pre-warning of the building tears, and rather than swell beneath the force of irritation and pain, it had his submissive side trembling in the spot, slowly taking control as the massacre of vehemence emotion became too much. I didn’t push any more of his buttons, or scream the words at him that I so desperately wanted to because I knew that he would shout back and then there really would be no stopping the tears.

“I buy you dinner, your favourite, and you sit there talking shit rather than eating it, insulting me and you say that’s not ungrateful?”

“It’s not my favorite,” Ronan countered, but buttoned it real quick beneath the harsh look it earned. He loved Chinese food, sure, but it wasn’t his favorite. Raven, one of his best friends, knew his favorite food. Knew his order by heart, and knew whether he needed to add to that order just by Ronan’s mood.

“I wasn’t being ungrateful. You hurt my feelings. I made you--”

“And I told you to stop with all the Little shit. We’re not doing that anymore, and the quicker you accept that, the better it’s going to be for both of us.”

Ronan nodded. Pawed at his cheeks. Tried to disguise just how close he was to that ‘Little shit’. He knew it would have acted as a lit match to Adam’s already thinning fuse. “You took away Lazlo, and then you took away Teddy. And that really hurt my feelings.”

Teddy was a brown bear that had been named in honour of him resembling Mr Bean’s teddy. Raven had bought him for him two weeks ago. They’d spent hours searching for the perfect stuffie, and as soon as his eyes had fallen upon him, overshadowed by the bright and colourful bears, Ronan had known he was meant to be his.

He’d hidden him and did a super fantastic job of keeping him out of Adam’s reach, but yesterday, he’d been on the warpath and not even Teddy had come out of it unscathed. Buying him dinner didn’t make up for that. He wasn’t sure anything besides giving him back could.

“You know I didn’t mean to hurt you, Ronan.” Adam ran his hands through his short crop of dark hair. It was shaved close to his head, but even still, his fingers managed to glide through the fluff like the ripples of a forming wave. “But what am I supposed to do? You’re blowing everything out of proportion, and playing the victim whenever things get heated. You think it’s easy seeing you cry? You think I want that?”

Ronan didn’t answer. Sometimes, it really did seem like that.

“This is why I don’t want to be your Daddy anymore. You’re being such a naughty boy. I can’t deal with you like that anymore.”

If Adam had smacked him, it would have been kinder. Would have hurt less. Hands curling into fists, his eyes dropped down to his feet, suddenly unable to meet his Daddy’s — no, not Daddy. Bad boys didn’t get Daddies.

“I’m sorry. If . . . if i promise to be good, and try real hard, can you be my Daddy again?” Because it had been almost two months since Adam had initiated the ban, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could cope. He was having to regress in private. Having to hide in the wardrobe and suck his thumb just to cope with everything going on around him. Or he’d wake up in Little space and try and force himself out of it, which always left him feeling sick and icky for hours after.

He wanted the freedom to do it as he pleased again. It wasn’t even like it was every night before the ban had gone up. He’d sensed Adam’s distance, his reluctance to engage with him like that, and it’d had turned into a scarce thing. But it hadn’t been punishable. Not like it was now.

“We’ll see.”

“Can I have my bear back? Please? Raven bought him for me.” Any mellowing to Adam’s statue fled at the mention of Ronan’s right hand bitch, and his face broke even in a painfully bare set.

He cursed to himself. Should have known better than to bring him up. Adam had issues with most of his friends right now, but he seemed to harbour a particular annoyance towards the Toussaint twins. Maybe because Angel was a Daddy and Raven was a Dom, and a lot of his other close-knit friends were Littles, but it was tiring. A few months back, he’d been terrified he’d lose Angel as a friend over a stupid text Adam had sent him whilst pretending to be him. It had scared him half to death.

And that fear, that panic at losing his friends, of losing all the people around him, it was one he couldn’t get rid of. It wedged in the chambers of his heart, stabbing holes into any sound thoughts that dared venture that way.

He felt broken all the time, and he had no idea how to fix it.

“It’s just a toy, Ronan. Go to sleep.” And with that, he spun on his heels and closed the door behind him.

The sound of his footsteps descending down the stairs was the only cue he needed. Legs crumpling, his knees hit the soft, fluffy carpet and he very slowly began to sing to himself. It was a silly song, but it nurtured the ache within enough that he managed to steer his thumb up to his mouth and crawl over to the wardrobe. The double, mirrored doors opened with a soft creak, and closed with an impending sense of doom. They cut off all traces of light, tombing him inside with nothing but overwhelming darkness and the dusty tang of mothballs tickling his nose.

It wasn’t an easy process, getting his breathing to even out and the tears that had begun to fall to dry up, but when he eventually managed, it felt as though years had passed. He could feel the scales of control tipping. Could feel his cowering Littler side becoming the main driver of his meat-suit, and there was nothing he could do but sit there as it happened.

And it broke his heart. Before, sparkles, make-up and all things fabulous had been among his triggers. Now, being scared and alone, surrounded by darkness, was swiftly becoming number one on his list.

“I wanna be happy,” he murmured, patting along his body until he reached his thighs. His phone was in his pocket and as he pulled it out, the bright glare of light burning against his eyes, it was just another reminder of how broken he’d been feeling recently.

His friends were his life. He loved them all, and he had so many of them that he could hang out with a different one every day of the month. But he didn’t. Because out of them all, only a small handful were what he considered close friends, and even those were becoming a struggle to maintain.

They were all his babes. He had his Sly and Jack-a-roo. They’d made a fantastic couple, just as he knew they would. Then there was Angel-pie and Luci-lou. Pure gold, them two. He loved them so freaking much. Another cupid match he’d had a hand in. Raven. Isaac, his newest addition to the close-friend zone, and Asa, the most dino-tastic boy he’d ever met. They’d met a while back at Lucien’s halloween party and he’d decided that if Joel, Lucien’s brother and Asa’s Daddy, ever stepped down, then he was adopting Asa as his own baby boy, and nobody had a say in that. Summer was his best bitch. She was as sparkly and fabulous as him, and after bonding, or getting her rat-arsed, on their friend Jana’s hen do, they’d forged a bond of awesomeness. Her boyfriend/ Daddy Nick was a good friend too, just not close enough to warrant a friendship bracelet. Not yet, at least.

There was more, but as he stared down at the dozens of missed notifications, texts, missed calls and game pop-ups, he almost locked the thing and shoved it right back in his pocket.

He didn’t. He forced himself to scroll through them, filtering them out. . Five years now and still going strong, Sylvester was among one of his oldest friends. He’d sent a few messages, gushing about how amazing his Daddy was, and how he’d written him a song just for him. It was adorable and had a smile working his mouth, but it faded.

He loved Sly. He was like the little brother he’d never had. And he wanted more than anything to spend an afternoon with iced tea, butterfly cakes and the baring of their souls, but he knew he couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair on Sly to drag him down with all that negativity, and he was scared it would cost him his friend in the process.

Not because Sly wouldn’t understand, but because his Daddy, Jackson, was Adam’s best friend. He’d been my friend and had been for nearly two and a half years now, but he was still only just my friend. He was Adam’s best friend. And while Sly was mine, I didn’t want to put them in that awkward position where it felt like they had to choose sides.

And quite frankly, he was simply terrified that Jackson would have chosen Adam’s side and he would have tried to stop me from seeing Sly. It didn’t sound like the kind of thing that Jackson would do, but six months ago, being cold and dismissive wasn’t the type of thing that Adam would have done.

He sent a quick text back, ignored the one from Angel, because the bastard seemed to have a spidey-sense for when he was on the verge of breakdown, and he’d already been too much of a burden on him, and ignored Lucien’s by default because he knew that Angel would know something was wrong if he responded to Luci and not him.

He wanted to call Raven. More than anything, he needed to hear his voice. He was a walking comfort blanket, and one of the few people capable of dragging him up out of a crappy mood. But he didn’t. It was Monday night and he knew he’d be working. Instead, he scrolled down to Isaac’s message.

Isaac Reid was, in Ronan’s opinion, a riot. They’d met on Connex, an app-based community that allowed you to talk and connect with other members of the community, almost five months ago. He had obnoxiously replied to a post Ronan had made. He’d sent something snarky back. They’d gotten along charmingly ever since.

He answered after the third ring. ”What do you want? You’re interrupting the part where the Indominus Rex eats the fat guy who goes in her cage.”

It should have been his Daddy’s voice soothing him, but he found solace in Isaac’s instead.

“You’re gonna have nightmares,” Ronan told him, fighting off the feeling that tried to swamp him. Isaac was a brat sometimes, and had a way of triggering his Daddy side. He hoped that was the case today. Hoped it would balance out the slipping falling sensation that gripped him.

"Deacon, pause it.”Ronan heard him say, his voice muffling as the receiver was pulled away. Then it rang back with amplified clarity. ”I won’t. Deek made me a super cool dream catcher! He actually made it for me! He made the centre look like Jason’s hockey mask. How cool is that?”

Snorting, Ronan curled in on himself. The hard bottom of the wardrobe was rough beneath him, and something jabbed into his back, but he ignored it. Setting his phone on speaker and placing it on his lap, his right hand took hold of his left; as his thumb swept small circles over the flesh, he imagined somebody was there with him, that they were the ones holding his hand. Imagained Isaac’s voice was theirs, and everything was going to be alright.

“Super cool,” he agreed at last. Jurassic World seemed quite tame, and more the kind of thing Asa would have watched than Isaac, who was a die-hard horror fanatic. But it had violence, blood and terror, so he supposed that covered it. They’d only met twice in person, but it had been amazing. Ronan had made the trip up for Isaac’s twentieth birthday, and the look on his new friend’s face when he’d handed him a Freddy and Jason POP doll, along with a hand knitted version of Freddy, who he had an unhealthy obsession with, it had been magical. The other time was last week at Sly’s birthday party. It had been an overall great time. He’d met Isaac’s little brother Oz, who’d coincidentally been good friends with Sly and Lucien through the same app he’d met Isaac on.

The memory had him smiling. It’d been fancy dress and he’d gone as a fairy princess because he was the most fabulous bitch there was. But Adam had ruined that too, and an argument while they were there had him being yanked from Little space, and his tiara being snapped into pieces.

“I can call back if you’re busy watching your show,” he offered, his mind skirting back to Isaac’s greeting. There was a time he would have laughed it off. It was just the way Isaac was. But feeling as Little as he did, and as shaken as he was, paranoia set in; he felt like nobody actually wanted him around.

"No, don’t. I wanna talk to you,” Isaac dismissed. ”It was time for Deacon to get up and make me dessert anyway — yes that was a hint, you lazy git. Get me some ice cream.”

And just like that, a smile curved his lips. He adored Isaac and his Daddy’s, Deacon, relationship. It was screwy and wild, nothing at all like the pretty, bow wrapped thing that was Lucien and Angel’s relationship. It was chaotic at times. Isaac was a fucking terror when he wanted to be or when he couldn’t get his own way.

Issac’ relationship, or the aspects that he’d seen and heard, reminded him of how his and Adam’s had once been. It had that same wild and unruly feel. Ronan had loved to be a brat and his Daddy had loved to put him in his place.

He didn’t remember falling asleep. Must have happened mid call because he didn’t remember how his conversation ended with Isaac, or any goodnights being exchanged. He woke to light poking at his face and strong arms pulling him to my feet.

“Daddy?” Ronan said sleepily, stumbling and almost tripping as he was directed out of the wardrobe. Hands caught him, and Adam pulled him close, the sweet scent of his aftershave confirming his presence. His eyes were too blurry to have been sure it was him.

“Shh,” he said. “Go back to sleep, Ro. Here, get into bed.” He didn’t fight. Let his body be moved towards the king-sized mattress. Muttered a thank you as he began to pull his shoes and socks off.

“I’m scared, Daddy,” Ronan whimpered once he was left in his underwear, the covers being pulled over him. “I wanna —”

He cut himself off. His mind was a groggy battleground, but he was dimly aware that he wasn’t supposta call his Daddy Daddy, but he couldn’t remember why. Cept he was bad, and he didn’t want to be bad, and now he was scared he would be naughty forever and not know why.

“Shh, Ro. Shush, hun.” He settled as his Daddy’s body slid in behind him, arms pulling him close and a soft kiss being placed on the corner of his temple. “I’m here. Just go to sleep.”

He did. For the first time in a long time, he fell asleep feeling warm and safe, and like just maybe things were going to be okay after all.