Declan has every intention of ruining him, and he still hasn't decided whether he intends to leave him in ruins. His hand strokes up the length of Gansey's cock with smooth, steady strokes, each time squeezing the head. There's some of the same movement in his wrist as when he let the glass roll from his fingers, and the metaphor of the glass still hangs in the air, falling again with every second, but not yet smashing (not yet).
Letting Declan have control is dangerous, because he's skittish and feral, but he's slipped the noose for now. Still half dressed as he sits astride Gansey's thighs, Declan continues his merciless handjob, waiting to see Gansey fall apart. (And then he can leave, then they'll be done, and he hasn't needed to be vulnerable at all. How convenient.)
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Letting Declan have control is dangerous, because he's skittish and feral, but he's slipped the noose for now. Still half dressed as he sits astride Gansey's thighs, Declan continues his merciless handjob, waiting to see Gansey fall apart. (And then he can leave, then they'll be done, and he hasn't needed to be vulnerable at all. How convenient.)