Suddenly, I'm a fiend and you're all I need

[sleepingpills]

Declan didn't want to be here. He had more important things to do, more important places to be. He had so many responsibilities, and here he was driving down to Henrietta to yell at his idiot younger brother for his shitty life decisions yet again.

He'd given no warning for this visit. Ronan wouldn't answer the phone if he called anyway, and if he had any inkling that Declan would show up, he certainly wouldn't be there. At least Declan could visit Matthew after this, and he'd be here for church the next morning, so it wasn't as if the trip would be wasted even if Ronan was ... himself.

Rapping sharply at the door to Monmouth, Declan stood slightly to the side so that he wouldn't be visible to anyone peeking to see who was at the door. He'd learned his lesson about that.

Comments

[sphecophobic]

There's something about the way that he talks about it being dangerous, about wanting power and safety. Something about the way that Declan hadn't seemed to see how Gansey could consider him someone safe. He doesn't know the shape of his secrets, but there's a sense here that Ronan might not be the only one of the Lynch brothers that carries them.

His breath catches and he shivers at the way that his thumb brushes against his lip- mouth parting against the pressure. It feels different when it's someone else's touch, when it's Declan's fingers. He can't quite resist the way he licks against his fingertips.

Dangerous feels different when you know you're going to die in a handful of months. Knowledge that Gansey tries to keep from himself, to keep from thinking about it, but it's never too deep under his skin, a different sort of anxiety.

He doesn't ask the question when Declan says he can't risk indulgences, just drags fingers against his skin, leans in a little closer. "It's not quite that simple," he says with a crooked smile. "I want you more than I want indulgences." It still feels selfish. Maybe Declan's right and it's foolish, too.

"But I wasn't going to lie." Not about this, at least. Not like this. Maybe it wasn't the whole truth, but it was close enough.

[sleepingpills]

Declan wants, and he feels as though he's somehow promised Gansey a perfect, pleasurable night with his virginity, but it's more than Declan can deliver. No matter how willing Gansey is to accommodate all of Declan's sharp edges.

He pulls his hand back. "You didn't hurt me, and you didn't do anything wrong."

Moving away from Gansey, Declan fills his glass again and picks a chair a safe distance from the bed. He folds himself into it, one knee bent up and one stretched out in front of him. "But, Christ, have you ever thought about courting a guy before throwing yourself at him?"

That's as close as Declan can get to saying the problem he's having. He doesn't believe Gansey's sincere about this. He's certain that Gansey will regret it--regret him--and he can't quite bring himself to take Gansey's word to the contrary. Even when he'd tried, the more frightening problem had been the idea of being truthful about his wants. Being vulnerable to someone who was going to regret him in the morning. The thought was agonizing.

"No need to put that shirt back on, though. May as well let me enjoy the view."

[sphecophobic]

Honestly, the reassurance is what keeps him together, makes it so that he can breathe through the moment. That knowledge he hadn't done anything wrong, hasn't hurt Declan when all he wanted was anything but. The almost-teasing way that he tells him not to put his shirt back on at least allows him a thin sort of smile, a tilt of his head as he watches how Declan slides into the chair, glass in hand.

It still takes Gansey a minute to come up with the words, because the answer is yes. But it gives him a moment to slide into the chair by his desk.

"It would have meant something different, if I'd been talking about courting you," he says softly. Looking over at Declan, the words honest, but this is harder to talk about. It leaves him feeling far more exposed than just not having his shirt on, flushes his face with warmth.

"And I didn't think you wanted that. But- Yes. I've thought about it," he answers, his voice as even as he can make it. The way he speaks is quiet, but Monmouth is still and empty and it carries easily in the space between them. He doesn't quite know what to say after that, so he just lets his eyes fall to his hands, teeth pressing into his bottom lip.