Breaking the kiss so that they can focus on the important priority of getting their shirts off, Declan pauses to admire the sight of Gansey's bare chest, all that warm, summery skin. "You done this before, Richard?" Declan asks, with a challenging drawl in his voice that says he was only barely too polite to point-blank ask if Gansey is a virgin, but he already suspects the answer to that. Plus, he's allowing for the possibility that Gansey may have fingered some girl in the back seat of the Camaro. That's worlds different from this, no matter how far they go.

There's a quiver to Declan's breath when his own shirt comes off. He's almost translucently pale, genetically predisposed to burn and never tan, and there's too much hollow in his ribs, not enough muscle anywhere. The flat plane of his belly trembles with short, anxious breaths, betraying the nerves that don't make it onto his face.