Gansey refills the glass for him, a faint twitch of his mouth as his eyes slide over Declan as he pours again with steady hands. There's a tension on the air, a touch of nerves that he is practiced in pretending not to feel, but it's harder on nights like tonight. He sets the bottle on the desk near his mint plant, and his thumb glides against his bottom lip in that anxious habit he never quite notices and Adam never points out.
There's a twitch to his smile at the question, and he knows the nickname is intentional. So he ignores it for the moment, all easy magnanimity flavored with interest as he looks over at him with a lift of an eyebrow. He doesn't want to give Declan the pleasure of seeing him flinch-- somehow it feels like it would give away more than he wants, even if they both already know that Dick grates against his sensibilities. "Was I being coy?"
Of course, he could be vulgar about it, ask if he wants to fuck, but he isn't that person. Even if Gansey sort of still wants to curl his fingers in his tie and taste the scotch on his mouth, feel Declan's hands on his skin until everything fades out just for tonight. But he tries not to push harder than he intends, even when shadows frame his hazel eyes.
"You're attractive," he commented, taking a sip of his own glass of scotch, hip tilted into the side of the desk. Not that he thinks Declan needs to hear it, but it's an easy place to start. There were a multitude of pieces here, most of them things he didn't really want to share, insecurities that pressed against the veneer he wore.
How Gansey hadn't slept in days, how he shakes in the night and the cardboard pieces of his model of Henrietta that he uses to keep himself busy at 3am don't do enough to take the edge off. How panic and fear bleed into his veins until the world hums around him. The way the need for it all burns, seconds ticking like he doesn't have enough time. There's a litany of reasons he wants something more, secrets he's bad at keeping.
"And well, if it's you then I'm not ruining anything," he admits with a wry curl of his mouth. Overly pragmatic maybe, but he's polite about it. He doesn't want it to sound cruel.
The interplay of social circles and his family name and what he needed and the choices he was allowed to make were all a lovely sort of snare; given just enough freedom to understand a misstep could choke himself on it. Maybe it's naive, but for all that he maybe trusts Declan's intentions less than he used to, he doesn't believe that he'd leverage this against him. Not when Gansey puts so much into looking after Ronan, fights for him in ways he wouldn't allow his older brother to.
"It's an offer," he says, softening just a little at the edge.
no subject
There's a twitch to his smile at the question, and he knows the nickname is intentional. So he ignores it for the moment, all easy magnanimity flavored with interest as he looks over at him with a lift of an eyebrow. He doesn't want to give Declan the pleasure of seeing him flinch-- somehow it feels like it would give away more than he wants, even if they both already know that Dick grates against his sensibilities. "Was I being coy?"
Of course, he could be vulgar about it, ask if he wants to fuck, but he isn't that person. Even if Gansey sort of still wants to curl his fingers in his tie and taste the scotch on his mouth, feel Declan's hands on his skin until everything fades out just for tonight. But he tries not to push harder than he intends, even when shadows frame his hazel eyes.
"You're attractive," he commented, taking a sip of his own glass of scotch, hip tilted into the side of the desk. Not that he thinks Declan needs to hear it, but it's an easy place to start. There were a multitude of pieces here, most of them things he didn't really want to share, insecurities that pressed against the veneer he wore.
How Gansey hadn't slept in days, how he shakes in the night and the cardboard pieces of his model of Henrietta that he uses to keep himself busy at 3am don't do enough to take the edge off. How panic and fear bleed into his veins until the world hums around him. The way the need for it all burns, seconds ticking like he doesn't have enough time. There's a litany of reasons he wants something more, secrets he's bad at keeping.
"And well, if it's you then I'm not ruining anything," he admits with a wry curl of his mouth. Overly pragmatic maybe, but he's polite about it. He doesn't want it to sound cruel.
The interplay of social circles and his family name and what he needed and the choices he was allowed to make were all a lovely sort of snare; given just enough freedom to understand a misstep could choke himself on it. Maybe it's naive, but for all that he maybe trusts Declan's intentions less than he used to, he doesn't believe that he'd leverage this against him. Not when Gansey puts so much into looking after Ronan, fights for him in ways he wouldn't allow his older brother to.
"It's an offer," he says, softening just a little at the edge.