Gansey watches him, the way that he sits hard on the edge of his bed, the liquor in his glass moving with the motion. The way he knocks it back and his eyes linger against his throat for an indulgent moment. The glass falls, hits the floor, and Gansey doesn't quite breathe until it rolls in a wobbly circle. Some sort of implicit understanding that it's a choice, a chance.
It doesn't break. But he's still looking at Declan, his pulse rabbit-fast, and watching as that sharp gaze shifts, softens into something softer. Heated with a touch of challenge, holding his eyes there and Gansey feels almost captive to it, watching as he licks the alcohol from his fingers. He gasps, flushed and his eyes a little glassy, pupils dilated as he slowly steps in closer. His skin prickles with heat, with the way desire thrums in his veins, and he wants.
He's not quite so careful, because this feels more like invitation and less like courting a tiger. So soft steps close the distance, and he's a mess of want and desire, insecurities under his skin that precious few people see under his smiles. But Declan isn't the only one here whose defenses are cracked. He brushes fingertips against the strands of his dark hair, and lets his touch trail down the line of his jaw like more than a caress, like awe.
He couldn't explain why this is so captivating, but there's something about the scotch on the other's fingers and Declan on the edge of Gansey's rumpled bed that hits a chord in him, makes it feel illicit in a hundred different ways and he aches as he watches his eyes. Incapable of looking away even if he'd wanted to, and he doesn't. Easier than he could have imagined to surrender, to fall into the moment.
He wants so much it overwhelms him, wants to kiss him, pull him down to the mattress with him, wants hands on his skin and to feel him peel away all the broken pieces. He wants him inside his skin, wants so much it burns, makes him all flushed and seem a little less perfect.
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It doesn't break. But he's still looking at Declan, his pulse rabbit-fast, and watching as that sharp gaze shifts, softens into something softer. Heated with a touch of challenge, holding his eyes there and Gansey feels almost captive to it, watching as he licks the alcohol from his fingers. He gasps, flushed and his eyes a little glassy, pupils dilated as he slowly steps in closer. His skin prickles with heat, with the way desire thrums in his veins, and he wants.
He's not quite so careful, because this feels more like invitation and less like courting a tiger. So soft steps close the distance, and he's a mess of want and desire, insecurities under his skin that precious few people see under his smiles. But Declan isn't the only one here whose defenses are cracked. He brushes fingertips against the strands of his dark hair, and lets his touch trail down the line of his jaw like more than a caress, like awe.
He couldn't explain why this is so captivating, but there's something about the scotch on the other's fingers and Declan on the edge of Gansey's rumpled bed that hits a chord in him, makes it feel illicit in a hundred different ways and he aches as he watches his eyes. Incapable of looking away even if he'd wanted to, and he doesn't. Easier than he could have imagined to surrender, to fall into the moment.
He wants so much it overwhelms him, wants to kiss him, pull him down to the mattress with him, wants hands on his skin and to feel him peel away all the broken pieces. He wants him inside his skin, wants so much it burns, makes him all flushed and seem a little less perfect.