#dom!ronan

[clotpolesonly]

Not For Her

i have been chomping at the bit to write Ronan domming Declan and my 2nd FTH bidder, my darling jennybug, graciously gave me the opportunity to do so, with some other kinks thrown in there for funsies 💖😇💖 variety is the spice of life and sometimes kinks really sneak up on you, lol, hope you like it 😘 | Declan/Ronan | 11.2k | E | Sibling Incest | Secret Relationship | Jealousy | Possessiveness | Cock Cages | Under-negotiated Kink | Dom Ronan | Sub Declan | Rough Sex | (also on AO3)

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Declan didn't often go into Ronan's room. Mostly because he didn't spend a lot of time at the Barns in general, but even now, staying there for the whole of summer break, Ronan's bedroom was not a particularly familiar place. The two of them spent most of their time in Declan's across the hall. When engaging in an illicit affair with one's brother, it was more discreet and therefore wiser to do so in a room that did not share a wall with another, uninvolved and blessedly unaware, brother.

Not to say that it was off limits, because it wasn't. They'd fooled around in there enough times, when they were absolutely certain that Matthew was out, that Declan felt okay about letting himself in. He was on the hunt for a particular tie, and he was almost certain that it was in Ronan's possession. It had featured heavily the last time they'd dallied on this side of the hall.

Ronan's room was a mess. Go figure. God forbid he organize. Declan kicked through a half dozen piles of discarded clothes before he turned his attention to the dresser and started pulling open drawers.

He didn't have time for this. He was supposed to be meeting Jeanine for dinner at six. Admittedly, he didn't much care for Jeanine and wasn’t particularly eager to spend an evening with her, but when engaging in an illicit affair with one's brother, it was more discreet and therefore wiser to have a girlfriend to deflect suspicion. He needed to put in at least enough effort to not get dumped before the end of summer, and that meant not being late to dinner. And wearing a decent tie. If he could find the damn thing.

Underwear and socks in this drawer, outgrown t-shirts from middle school in that one. Who knew what was in drawer three—it seemed to be organic, but Declan didn't linger long enough to verify lest it bite him. There was at least one dream thing everywhere he turned, but that was to be expected and so Declan didn't pay them any mind. He did briefly wonder, though, if maybe Ronan had fed his tie to the drawer creature out of spite.

Thankfully, that was not the case. The tie was found under Ronan's pillow, halfway balled up but not noticeably wrinkled. Declan was tutting over it and planning his lecture to Ronan about proper garment care and respect for others' property when he caught a glimpse of something shiny under there too.

Some sixth sense told him it was a dream. Good old-fashioned nosiness told him to fish it out.

He wasn't entirely sure at first what he was looking at. It was metal, or something like it, and cool to the touch. Small enough to fit in his hand. A circle on one end and curved spokes leading from it, a kind of cylindrical lattice. It was sort of phallic, honestly, which didn't surprise him much, considering the oftentimes juvenile humor of its dreamer. What did surprise him, when he turned the thing over, was the tiny padlock it sported and, even more so, the engraving.

His own name, etched into the metal. It was unmistakably Ronan's handwriting.

Declan dropped it. The cock cage—because that was undeniably what it was, he’d realized, with the ring base and the phallic shape and the fucking lock—thumped down onto Ronan's pillow and lay there, glinting innocently up at him. The room, which only a moment ago had been pleasantly cool, now felt stiflingly hot. A drop of sweat slithered down Declan's spine. He couldn't look away from the damn thing. Nonsensically, he felt like it too might bite him if he did.

It had his name on it.

A door slammed downstairs. It sent Declan a foot into the air, heart racing fit to burst. Matthew, home from whatever excursion his friends had dragged him out on for the afternoon, which meant that Declan was almost certainly late for his date now. Fuck.

He didn't know what compelled him to do it. He should have put the cage back under Ronan's pillow and endeavored to forget all about it, or at least to wait and see if Ronan actually planned to bring it up to him at any point. Instead, Declan snatched the cage up and stuffed it into the pocket of his dress pants. He hastily put his tie on—it was more wrinkled from being clenched in his white-knuckled grip than it had been from being balled up for several days—and flung himself down the stairs, completely ignoring Matthew's attempt to greet him on his way to the door.

Whatever the fuck this meant, he would think about it later. He had a dinner to make it through.

—

He didn't make it ten minutes into dinner before his mind, and his hand, wandered. Jeanine was a lovely girl and sweet enough, but she wasn't exactly a stimulating conversationalist, and what Declan had burning a hole through his pocket was more than she could ever hope to compete with. And so Jeanine kept herself entertained telling him about her day and Declan, not hearing a word of it, fondled the cock cage his brother had dreamt for him.

For him? Or for himself? Declan wasn't well versed enough in such matters to know which of them Ronan had imagining wearing it or what his name on it was meant to indicate. The fact that Ronan had imagined it at all, and vividly enough to make it real, made his cheeks flush.

Jeanine, uncharacteristically, noticed. “Are you feeling alright?”

Declan, characteristically, lied. “Fine. Bit too much wine, maybe.” He took another sip, left-handed. “What was that you were saying about your TA?”

The cage was cool in his hand, not warming to his skin even as it grew slippery with sweat from how tightly he held it. They’d never discussed anything like this. Not that they discussed much; communication had never been their strong suit. Most of what they did, they simply did, for better or for worse. They’d never run up against something in bed that one of them wanted and the other didn’t. That was uncharted territory. Declan gripped the cage tightly enough for the bars to press lines into his palm. He realized, belatedly, that Jeanine had stopped talking.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m afraid I am feeling a bit off.” That much wasn’t even a lie. He still felt hot, his collar too tight around his throat. He was regretting the tie.

Jeanine folded her napkin neatly across her lap. A very familiar gesture from dissatisfied girlfriends past. “Maybe we should just call it a night. Let you get some rest.”

Arguing wouldn’t win him any points here. He called for the check, and he made sure to sign the receipt at such an angle that his checker-boarded palm wasn’t visible to her. She did kiss him when he walked her to her car, at least, and said she hoped he felt better and to call her soon, so perhaps the relationship was still salvageable. He would order her some flowers as an apology for this evening’s lapse in attentiveness.

He wished her a good night and saw her off. He placed the flower order, to be delivered the following afternoon. Then he sat in his car for a good long while, staring out the windshield and feeling the press of the cage against his thigh.

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(read the rest on AO3)