[If Ronan was honest with himself, he might be able to admit that there's something he likes about the words that Kavinsky implies about them sometimes. He knows better than to imply his own ownership of Ronan, so it's always this: always that he belongs to Gansey. And there's always been something about that which feels like comfort, safety. So he doesn't argue it, not really.
He swallows hard, something about the way that Gansey stills, his breath exhaling in a sigh as he touches him. It's too light for the heat that runs through them both, but Ronan's always been softer with how he handles Gansey than himself. He closes his eyes, and Ronan forgets to breathe, unsure if this is where the moment dies, where Gansey shoves all this fire back down inside of himself where it can't touch Ronan. If this is where he pulls away.
He watches Gansey as his eyes open, and there's a certain relief to the way that Gansey looks at him. They're hardly touching, and he still doesn't want to lose this moment. Not when he knows he's leaving in the morning, and he wants so dearly to just soak up every breath of the other boy he can get.
This is a new realization for Ronan, the way that Gansey sparks a feeling he can only name desire across his skin. He's been drowning for so much of the past two years, and grief and depression were selfish things that left him buried inside of himself. But before Niall had died there had been a magnetic sort of feeling there. It catches his breath as Gansey's fingers catch at his beltloops, but it doesn't feel restrictive- just like the other boy anchoring him right where Ronan wants to be.
The soft touch of his fingertips shifts and he curls his hand, catching the fabric of Gansey's shirt for something to hold on to. He feels undone, something in the way that he says his name and he can feel his heart race. They're too close, but he can't bring himself to care about that. Especially not when Gansey smiles at him; sunlight to go with the fire. The question is easy and difficult all at once. He knows the answer, but saying it isn't anything Ronan's ever been good with.]
Fuck Gans, I.. No, I wouldn't mind.
[He feels exposed with the words on the air, tilts his head down a little. He wants it. It feels almost more like putting words to something that's already been there in the background. Like the want that he'd almost forgotten until he'd seen Gansey all ruffled and imperfect under fluorescent lights.]
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He swallows hard, something about the way that Gansey stills, his breath exhaling in a sigh as he touches him. It's too light for the heat that runs through them both, but Ronan's always been softer with how he handles Gansey than himself. He closes his eyes, and Ronan forgets to breathe, unsure if this is where the moment dies, where Gansey shoves all this fire back down inside of himself where it can't touch Ronan. If this is where he pulls away.
He watches Gansey as his eyes open, and there's a certain relief to the way that Gansey looks at him. They're hardly touching, and he still doesn't want to lose this moment. Not when he knows he's leaving in the morning, and he wants so dearly to just soak up every breath of the other boy he can get.
This is a new realization for Ronan, the way that Gansey sparks a feeling he can only name desire across his skin. He's been drowning for so much of the past two years, and grief and depression were selfish things that left him buried inside of himself. But before Niall had died there had been a magnetic sort of feeling there. It catches his breath as Gansey's fingers catch at his beltloops, but it doesn't feel restrictive- just like the other boy anchoring him right where Ronan wants to be.
The soft touch of his fingertips shifts and he curls his hand, catching the fabric of Gansey's shirt for something to hold on to. He feels undone, something in the way that he says his name and he can feel his heart race. They're too close, but he can't bring himself to care about that. Especially not when Gansey smiles at him; sunlight to go with the fire. The question is easy and difficult all at once. He knows the answer, but saying it isn't anything Ronan's ever been good with.]
Fuck Gans, I.. No, I wouldn't mind.
[He feels exposed with the words on the air, tilts his head down a little. He wants it. It feels almost more like putting words to something that's already been there in the background. Like the want that he'd almost forgotten until he'd seen Gansey all ruffled and imperfect under fluorescent lights.]