[He sharp blues flick to the twitch of Gansey's fists, then back to meet that way it feels almost like there's a glow in his hazel eyes. There's something uneasy about the moment, but it's a thrill, something dangerous. That way that his mouth shapes the words my dog and again, it's different on Gansey's tongue; a slight flash of teeth against Ronan's lips. That feeling of taking risks that makes his heart race. And it's all tangled up in the other boy and that makes it feel- better, somehow.
He could tack on explanations or reasons why; there's a handful of different justifications. But somehow that feels like it would just make it feel less honest. So he gives the answer to him bare, just like this.
Gansey is lovely like this, and it's hard not to focus on, to not feel trapped in his orbit, like he's drawn in easy as gravity. He doesn't remember moving, but he's a pace closer, and he can almost taste the shift in proximity. He watches with hawk-sharp attention the way he almost vibrates with the energy on the air, and Ronan's smile doesn't falter. He wants to hold onto this, onto him, for as long as he can possibly be allowed, a balm for that way he already aches for the loss of him.
He tilts his head a little as he watches Gansey, letting that silence stretch. There's that twist in his chest, a flutter of want and that's maybe the most dangerous part of all of this. Like this he's different from the Gansey that is all perfection, charm and control, where attraction was more like appreciation for a painting than something real. He doesn't feel any more attainable or less risky to touch- this is not like that moment in the Dollar Store. But there's nothing about this side of Gansey that isn't visceral, and it makes attraction burns down in veins, lurid with a feeling like he should be ashamed but isn't.]
And what about you?
[His voice is quiet and even between them, but he still feels reckless for asking when he hadn't bothered considering if he could handle having the answer. But one way or the other he has to face it now.
It doesn't bother him because it doesn't matter when it's Kavinsky saying it. Just another piece of bullshit on his mouth trying to spark a rise. It doesn't bother him because there's no part of the idea of being Gansey's dog that is an insult, or even untrue. If Gansey hadn't had his hand on the back of his neck and that edge on how he said his name that was all truth and surety, confident in all the ways that he faltered-- he would have torn himself apart with his own teeth. It doesn't bother him because it matters when it's Gansey saying it.]
sorry for the fragment before, cat jumped on the keyboard, oops
[He sharp blues flick to the twitch of Gansey's fists, then back to meet that way it feels almost like there's a glow in his hazel eyes. There's something uneasy about the moment, but it's a thrill, something dangerous. That way that his mouth shapes the words my dog and again, it's different on Gansey's tongue; a slight flash of teeth against Ronan's lips. That feeling of taking risks that makes his heart race. And it's all tangled up in the other boy and that makes it feel- better, somehow.
He could tack on explanations or reasons why; there's a handful of different justifications. But somehow that feels like it would just make it feel less honest. So he gives the answer to him bare, just like this.
Gansey is lovely like this, and it's hard not to focus on, to not feel trapped in his orbit, like he's drawn in easy as gravity. He doesn't remember moving, but he's a pace closer, and he can almost taste the shift in proximity. He watches with hawk-sharp attention the way he almost vibrates with the energy on the air, and Ronan's smile doesn't falter. He wants to hold onto this, onto him, for as long as he can possibly be allowed, a balm for that way he already aches for the loss of him.
He tilts his head a little as he watches Gansey, letting that silence stretch. There's that twist in his chest, a flutter of want and that's maybe the most dangerous part of all of this. Like this he's different from the Gansey that is all perfection, charm and control, where attraction was more like appreciation for a painting than something real. He doesn't feel any more attainable or less risky to touch- this is not like that moment in the Dollar Store. But there's nothing about this side of Gansey that isn't visceral, and it makes attraction burns down in veins, lurid with a feeling like he should be ashamed but isn't.]
And what about you?
[His voice is quiet and even between them, but he still feels reckless for asking when he hadn't bothered considering if he could handle having the answer. But one way or the other he has to face it now.
It doesn't bother him because it doesn't matter when it's Kavinsky saying it. Just another piece of bullshit on his mouth trying to spark a rise. It doesn't bother him because there's no part of the idea of being Gansey's dog that is an insult, or even untrue. If Gansey hadn't had his hand on the back of his neck and that edge on how he said his name that was all truth and surety, confident in all the ways that he faltered-- he would have torn himself apart with his own teeth. It doesn't bother him because it matters when it's Gansey saying it.]