It's not quite a dismissal, and it defuses the sharp tension in the air enough to let Declan relax back into his usual sharp-edged aloofness. Declan Lynch, political intern. Declan Lynch, magic black market businessman.
"I'm only in town for the night." Which is to say, no. Avoiding a direct answer to the question lets him protect his pride.
What he wasn't ready to protect against was the flutter of eyelashes, the hint of a smile, the invitation in that tilt of Gansey's head. It tugs at Declan's stomach, curling heat in his belly in a way that he has learned to fiercely deny.
Gansey's always been younger, closer to Ronan's age than his own, and those years ago, when they'd still been friends, that year was a vaster difference. Declan had been still new to desire, and he never would have considered young, innocent Gansey.
Time has hardened Gansey, firming his muscles, lifting his height, carving the edges of his jaw. Looking at him is like looking at a classical statue. An idealized beauty. Declan has a deep appreciation for classical statuary. When you're staring at a classical statue, no one suggests that maybe your appreciation for it is anything but good taste in art. Especially if you're someone who spends just as long looking at statues of either gender.
Declan clears his throat, but it comes out louder than he intended. His cheeks feel hot. He desperately hopes he's not blushing. He doesn't blush. No one ever manages to ruffle or arouse him enough for that. Just because Gansey grew up stunning with more personal magnetism than any one person should ever possess, that's not going to dent Declan's defenses.
no subject
"I'm only in town for the night." Which is to say, no. Avoiding a direct answer to the question lets him protect his pride.
What he wasn't ready to protect against was the flutter of eyelashes, the hint of a smile, the invitation in that tilt of Gansey's head. It tugs at Declan's stomach, curling heat in his belly in a way that he has learned to fiercely deny.
Gansey's always been younger, closer to Ronan's age than his own, and those years ago, when they'd still been friends, that year was a vaster difference. Declan had been still new to desire, and he never would have considered young, innocent Gansey.
Time has hardened Gansey, firming his muscles, lifting his height, carving the edges of his jaw. Looking at him is like looking at a classical statue. An idealized beauty. Declan has a deep appreciation for classical statuary. When you're staring at a classical statue, no one suggests that maybe your appreciation for it is anything but good taste in art. Especially if you're someone who spends just as long looking at statues of either gender.
Declan clears his throat, but it comes out louder than he intended. His cheeks feel hot. He desperately hopes he's not blushing. He doesn't blush. No one ever manages to ruffle or arouse him enough for that. Just because Gansey grew up stunning with more personal magnetism than any one person should ever possess, that's not going to dent Declan's defenses.