[The way he says it is as even as he can manage, even if he feels compelled to point it out. There's adrenaline in his veins, and somehow, impossibly, standing here with Gansey feels like just as much of a high as being in his car, coming off a turn and watching the tachometer climb toward the red as he shifts the gear and feels it in his bones. This feels like an oncoming collision, but he can't step away from it, even when he can already feel the vibrations.
But that wasn't what either of them really meant, and Gansey knows it- they're talking around the edges of the things they never admit to. It makes his breath catch when Gansey takes a step in closer. Close enough that Ronan could almost touch, if he dared. It reminds him of the cars at Kavinsky's party; crashing, impact because they couldn't resist. Because sometimes it's worth it.
He doesn't quite know what he expected Gansey to say, what the real answer was behind the obvious. But this is somehow better, more raw- the way that he says mine curls deep in his chest, and Ronan doesn't step back from it. He tries to catch his breath, to breathe in the space between them, and the thrill of it curls a smile that's lopsided and indecent. It's the way that he says the words, but it's also the intention of it that hangs on the air. Wanting, and possessive and he doesn't know that he deserves it, but he can't help himself.
This is his favorite side of Gansey, but he still feels like something Ronan isn't quite allowed to have. It's just that the shape of it is different: less like he'll ruin him, cut him on his broken parts and leave smudged shapes of the monstrous parts of himself all over perfect, beautiful Gansey. And the idea that Gansey likes the thought of words like mine- makes it feel different. Less like a transgression.
So he bites his bottom lip, and lets his greedy fingertips press against the other boy's chest, tentative as a whisper. He doesn't quite know the right words, how to put the way his body hums with the want of it into something he can say outloud. He feels undone already, with his fingertips the only thing connecting them.
Maybe there aren't words for it. Blue eyes watching Gansey's hazel, and it feels like his heartbeat is in his throat, like he's wrecked.]
no subject
[The way he says it is as even as he can manage, even if he feels compelled to point it out. There's adrenaline in his veins, and somehow, impossibly, standing here with Gansey feels like just as much of a high as being in his car, coming off a turn and watching the tachometer climb toward the red as he shifts the gear and feels it in his bones. This feels like an oncoming collision, but he can't step away from it, even when he can already feel the vibrations.
But that wasn't what either of them really meant, and Gansey knows it- they're talking around the edges of the things they never admit to. It makes his breath catch when Gansey takes a step in closer. Close enough that Ronan could almost touch, if he dared. It reminds him of the cars at Kavinsky's party; crashing, impact because they couldn't resist. Because sometimes it's worth it.
He doesn't quite know what he expected Gansey to say, what the real answer was behind the obvious. But this is somehow better, more raw- the way that he says mine curls deep in his chest, and Ronan doesn't step back from it. He tries to catch his breath, to breathe in the space between them, and the thrill of it curls a smile that's lopsided and indecent. It's the way that he says the words, but it's also the intention of it that hangs on the air. Wanting, and possessive and he doesn't know that he deserves it, but he can't help himself.
This is his favorite side of Gansey, but he still feels like something Ronan isn't quite allowed to have. It's just that the shape of it is different: less like he'll ruin him, cut him on his broken parts and leave smudged shapes of the monstrous parts of himself all over perfect, beautiful Gansey. And the idea that Gansey likes the thought of words like mine- makes it feel different. Less like a transgression.
So he bites his bottom lip, and lets his greedy fingertips press against the other boy's chest, tentative as a whisper. He doesn't quite know the right words, how to put the way his body hums with the want of it into something he can say outloud. He feels undone already, with his fingertips the only thing connecting them.
Maybe there aren't words for it. Blue eyes watching Gansey's hazel, and it feels like his heartbeat is in his throat, like he's wrecked.]
Gansey.