Ronan Lynch (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
threesecrets) wrote2021-03-30 07:45 pm
threesecrets) wrote2021-03-30 07:45 pm
open rp post;
+ Leave me a starter, an idea, whatever you like!
+ As always consider this your cw: weird kinks are possible
+ As always consider this your cw: weird kinks are possible
+ I ship pretty much whatever, though Gansey and Adam are of course favorites. m/m only
+ Hit me up on PM or Discord (thatwasdumb#0150) if you want to plot something.
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But he would leave, he realizes, pain razor sharp through his chest. Tomorrow he had to go to D.C. For the first time in years, he'd be away from Ronan for more than a day. The realization nearly stops his breath, his heart. It isn't permanent. He'll return after the weekend of deadly dull socials was over, but it feels like something will be irrevocably lost if Gansey stepoed away now, and then left for D.C.
The thought claws through him, fire and jealousy and want slamming his heart against his ribs, the rhythm painful, determined. His smile falters for a moment, then Ronan's answer careens through him. Something hot and possessive burns at the edges of his mind, tightens his fingers in the fabric beneath his hands. An entreaty more than a demand. The smile steadies, turnes into something nearly wicked at the word 'fuck'. It shouldn't effect him so much. Ronan swears constantly, but in this context, it seems more a possibility than an example of coarse language.
He feels something like the freedom he'd felt at Kavinsky's party. No masks. No Gansey III lies. Nothing but the two of them, the versions of themselves that no one else is allowed to see. The version that Gansey had never thought he'd be allowed to be, the one that might be able to have one of the things he'd wanted most.
Which is why he says what might be the most un-Gansey-like thing he'd ever put into words in his entire life.]
Usually, I don't do that on the first date, but I'd break that rule for you.
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And then those fucking words come out of the other boy's mouth, and Ronan's breath catches. His blue eyes wide and his pupils blown, heat flushed against his cheekbones. He can't even remember how he's supposed to breathe, a shameless sort of whine in the back of his throat. In a different situation, on a different night, he would have laughed it off, maybe pointed out this is hardly their first date; all lifted eyebrows and a flash of teeth. But Ronan's ability to be that blase was entirely predicated on the assumption that Gansey didn't mean it, that this wasn't real.
Right now the words I liked the idea of you being mine still hangs too heavy on the air between them for the suggestion to feel like anything but truth.
Ronan knows he should say something, needs to say something before he takes it back. But he feels like a mess, flushed and his heart racing, like his ribcage is too small to contain the shape of this. The way that Ronan comes alive in a way he'd thought he didn't know how anymore. He smiles, but it's not a sharp thing, not bared teeth and pretending the words don't make him ache. Instead he's almost giddy, raw with his own want and the idea of Gansey's desire.
He lets his hands shift, trailing from his chest to curl his fingers against his biceps. Just to touch, to feel him under his hands as he leans into him.]
Yeah? [His brain is still sort of short-circuiting; clever responses aren't exactly his strength right now. He doesn't know how to say what he wants. He almost says something instead about how he's never done it on the first date either, and there isn't a rule he wouldn't break for Gansey. But it feels too casual, especially since the truth is that he hasn't done it at all, but he wants him with every beat of his heart.
He lets his hands slide up to the curve of Gansey's shoulders, watching him as his touch stills there. It feels risky, dangerous, and he can't stop from chasing his heart, even if it feels like stepping into dark water, not knowing how deep it goes. Something he wants without a name for it.]
If you don't want me to be your dog, tell me what I am.
[It's somehow heavier than he thought it would be, because the yours matters. Because usually tell me what I am are words that end up in his prayers. It's different, but not.]
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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.
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He laughs, but it's soft sound- warm, not biting. A sound meant to draw him in, not push him away. Ronan's hands still curled against Gansey, like he's afraid that he'll pull away if he lets him go, even with those words on the air. It all feels so fragile, but he wants this, wants him.
He smiles, a little bit helpless, a slight shake of his head as he tries to articulate the way that he feels. The way that Gansey thinking he can't have him feels so impossible. He was perfect. Not in the way that most people saw him- flawless and picture-perfect, devoid of fears or insecurities, but in a way that was deeper than that, a way that meant more. Perfect in the ways that they fit together, in the way that Gansey's hands on him steadied him, that his voice leashed him when he needed it most.
But if they fuck this up, he's not sure if they get to go back. And that makes this dangerous, the sort of thing that Ronan should know enough to walk away from. But he doesn't. Especially not tonight, not after being at the substance party, at the way that Gansey still burned. This is risk and adrenaline and his pulse pounding in his veins and want, want, want.]
You can have me, if you want to.
[He says it before he can reconsider, before he can tell himself why it's a stupid idea, or why he doesn't deserve to say it. He feels like he's going to vibrate out of his skin, on edge and doesn't know how to handle the feeling of it. That way the ache, the need of it clutches in his chest. He wants Gansey, he's always wanted him in the moments where the idea of wanting was something he could parse. He lets his fingers shift a little, not pulling away but just stroking against the shape of his shoulders as he feels electric so close to Gansey.]
I want to hear you say I'm yours.
[He meets his eyes, Ronan's blues unsteady, and his pulse feels like thunder. He's greedy and he knows it, and he lets Gansey see it in his eyes. It's lust and desire, but it's focused. It's all his, if he wants it. It feels like stepping onto a ledge and not being sure if it'll collapse under his weight or not. If Gansey will catch him or not. But it's truth, raw and real. All the things he usually doesn't have the courage to say, and he doesn't know if this is courage or stupidity or just helpless magnetism.]
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He feels too alive, too real for this to end with a refusal. Ronan wouldn't have said that he wouldn't mind being Gansey's if he would turn him down a few moments later.
Hope hooks itself into his heart, painful but wonderful. This is better than seeing the Pig for the first time. Or finding some proof that his theories about Glendower are true. This is something far more magical than ley lines and lost kings.
He smiles foolishly as Ronan's hands move, ridiculously pleased that Ronan wants to touch him in ways that weren't just meant for friendship. Then the idea of having Ronan conjures up the fantasies that he's felt so guilty for. Tugging gently on Ronan's jeans, he pulls him closer, tipping his head up as he lets out a shaky breath.]
Jesus, Ronan. I've wanted...
[His voice trails off when he realizes how helpless he sounds. How needful. He isn't ashamed of it, but it's so rare that he gets to allow himself to be himself instead of the role he plays that he doesn't know how to continue.
Swallowing hard, he knows the words will shatter if he doesn't regain some control, but Ronan's eyes are bright with desire. His words ones that Gansey's craved almost since they'd met. Gansey has always tried to be less selfish but there's one thing - no, one person - that he could never stop himself from wanting to keep for himself.]
You're mine, Ronan.
[The words sound like they've almost been ripped from him, possessive and demanding. The declaration seems to fill all the hollow spaces around them, a command from a fable pushing back the doubt and darkness. He wants to take, dragging what he wants into the open, but he waits, knowing that this has to be both their choices. If he is a king, he isn't a conqueror. Ronan has to agree before Gansey can have more.]