[Even as he speaks, Gansey isn't certain of what Ronan's reaction might be. In some ways it's obvious that Ronan is attracted, but that doesn't mean that it's anything more than proximity and hormones. Ronan might react the same way to any boy that he didn't actively dislike if he was in a similar situation with that person. It doesn’t signify that Gansey is the one who had earned that desire, despite Ronan wanting to be his’.
At least not until Gansey’s avidly notices how Ronan’s eyes darken, the color that spills across pale skin that is far warmer than it should be even during a summer night in Monmouth. Even those signs might be ignored if Ronan hadn’t let out sound that Gansey’s only imagined, feeling ashamed every time he did, waiting for Ronan to somehow know when they start their mornings together.
His heart stumbles, hands trembling faintly, but the motion stilled by his grip on Ronan’s jeans as he waits for some sort of answer. It’d be easy for Ronan to step away and laugh this off. There’s a ready excuse waiting, stalking in the shadowy corners of the factory. He could claim that it was some lingering effect of Kavinsky’s party or too many sleepless nights. He could laugh and say that Gansey was being dramatic, even though they both know he’d never let his more passionate whims cross so many forbidden lines.
He can feel their confessions against their skin, pressing in way that could easily become too much and open wounds that would take weekss, if not months to truly heal. It makes his nerves feel stretched too tight, his resolve eroding away until he’s certain that he’ll have to back away, apologize, and flee to the familiar comfort of the Pig.
The smile eases the horrible dread, revealing something that Gansey hadn’t seen since he’d learned of Niall’s murder. This Ronan, the one caught lightly between his hands is a version that Gansey hasn’t seen before. A curious mixture of the Ronan of drag races and endless grieving rage and the boy who had laughed and sang at the Barns. The one who had offered Gansey a world of magic and acceptance that he hadn’t known that he needed.
Possessiveness and a wistful ache tumble together. His breath hitches, a faint shiver catching him off guard when Ronan’s hands move. This is too much like his most shameful fantasies for Gansey to keep his self control intact. He makes a noise that is hopeful and wistful as Ronan catches him, keeps him close, destroying what distance there is between them.]
Yeah.
[One simple word, sounding just as needy as Ronan’s whine. It’d be embarrassing if it weren’t for the potential binding them together. He leans into Ronan’s hands, gaze flickering to Ronan’s mouth, telling himself he can’t do more than look. Not yet. Not until he’s certain that Ronan feels the same way. That the desire that seems so obvious is meant for Gansey.]
I’m not sure what you are.
[No. That’s not true. Gansey knows. He just isn’t sure how to put it into words.]
But you were the one I yearned for, but never thought I could have.
no subject
At least not until Gansey’s avidly notices how Ronan’s eyes darken, the color that spills across pale skin that is far warmer than it should be even during a summer night in Monmouth. Even those signs might be ignored if Ronan hadn’t let out sound that Gansey’s only imagined, feeling ashamed every time he did, waiting for Ronan to somehow know when they start their mornings together.
His heart stumbles, hands trembling faintly, but the motion stilled by his grip on Ronan’s jeans as he waits for some sort of answer. It’d be easy for Ronan to step away and laugh this off. There’s a ready excuse waiting, stalking in the shadowy corners of the factory. He could claim that it was some lingering effect of Kavinsky’s party or too many sleepless nights. He could laugh and say that Gansey was being dramatic, even though they both know he’d never let his more passionate whims cross so many forbidden lines.
He can feel their confessions against their skin, pressing in way that could easily become too much and open wounds that would take weekss, if not months to truly heal. It makes his nerves feel stretched too tight, his resolve eroding away until he’s certain that he’ll have to back away, apologize, and flee to the familiar comfort of the Pig.
The smile eases the horrible dread, revealing something that Gansey hadn’t seen since he’d learned of Niall’s murder. This Ronan, the one caught lightly between his hands is a version that Gansey hasn’t seen before. A curious mixture of the Ronan of drag races and endless grieving rage and the boy who had laughed and sang at the Barns. The one who had offered Gansey a world of magic and acceptance that he hadn’t known that he needed.
Possessiveness and a wistful ache tumble together. His breath hitches, a faint shiver catching him off guard when Ronan’s hands move. This is too much like his most shameful fantasies for Gansey to keep his self control intact. He makes a noise that is hopeful and wistful as Ronan catches him, keeps him close, destroying what distance there is between them.]
Yeah.
[One simple word, sounding just as needy as Ronan’s whine. It’d be embarrassing if it weren’t for the potential binding them together. He leans into Ronan’s hands, gaze flickering to Ronan’s mouth, telling himself he can’t do more than look. Not yet. Not until he’s certain that Ronan feels the same way. That the desire that seems so obvious is meant for Gansey.]
I’m not sure what you are.
[No. That’s not true. Gansey knows. He just isn’t sure how to put it into words.]
But you were the one I yearned for, but never thought I could have.