marlowemuses | Suddenly, I'm a fiend and you're all I need

Declan isn't wrong about Gansey, but hardly anyone sees the doubt, sees how much it torments him, how deep under his skin it goes. It makes the moment feel almost confessional.

But then there's that challenge, the insistence that he still has to choose, to command. And that he'll never know what he's doing. He sighs, and his lips thin. Because he doesn't think that he's wrong, not in the context of the world outside the walls of Monmouth, at least. But there's a small piece of comfort in that his struggles, fraught as they may be, at least make him better than a tyrant.

"Yes," he answers, a flush to his face as he says it, meeting his eyes despite the urge to hide from it. No hesitation or caveats or excuses, even if it would be easier. He's never talked about this. Never admitted to these things- but anything else feels like it would be a lie. There's still that edge of control in how he touches him, though. The way his fingers curl in his hair and pulls a little, like he's unwilling to let go when Declan makes that threat about slipping through his fingers.

"I'm not indecisive, I know what I want. Stay." It should be a question, a request, but it isn't. He's never actually had to let go. He wants so badly to give it all up for a while, but he's never had the luxury.

Declan rumbles with approval at that tug in his hair and Gansey's command for him to stay. It's what he wanted, demanded, and it gives Declan a feeling of stability. Gansey's choosing him. Wants him.

Grabbing Gansey by the front of his shirt, Declan pulls him down, leaning up so that their mouths meet. It's not a gentle kiss. Declan's needy and desperate, tongue pushing through into Gansey's mouth to claim him. He needs so much to be desired, to matter to someone, and he doesn't want Gansey to be willing to let him slip away.

He gasps as Declan grabs the front of his shirt and pulls him down, pressing their mouths together. It's harder than he expects, but that just makes him melt into it; his eyelashes fluttering and a low murmur as he lets his tongue push into his mouth, as he leans into the contact. There's a heat to how he kisses him, aching and needy- that way that he craves for contact, how he feels so alone.

He wants him to take all Gansey can give, and his hands cling to his shoulders, reaching for the contact, the closeness, as much as he can. He craves the feeling so much, the heat and the desire, and he can't cling to him quite tight enough. He moans hot against his mouth, ends up crawling into his lap just to be closer.

He wants so much, and like this it's impossible to hide the depth of it.

Declan drops back against the bed, savoring the feeling of being caught between Gansey and the mattress, trapped and desired, with Gansey holding him so possessively tight.

Tangling their tongues together, Declan lets himself get lost in it, sweetness and arousal shared without any thought of consequences or tomorrow. Gansey wants him, and Declan has never been with anyone who wanted him. Him, not his name, not his status, not the bragging rights.

His hands slide greedily up the back of Gansey's shirt, exploring warm skin and muscle, health and strength. Declan's ribs, by contrast, are as sharp-edged as the rest of him. He doesn't let himself indulge, doesn't want to draw attention or take up too much space.

Gansey had decided not to worry about the consequences when he'd settled on actually doing something about this. He'd tried to tell himself it could be easy, but that had been a lie, but he can deal with that later.

Right now he just wants Declan. Wants the way that he kisses him with their bodies pressed together against his mattress. The way that he feels wanted, even when he sees the imperfect pieces of him, that he exists beyond the smiles and charisma.

The way their tongues slide together, all heat and want, arousal that sings in his veins. He murmurs into the seal of their mouths, his eyes closed tight as his hand push up the back of his shirt, skin on skin, which is enough to make him ache for more. One of his hands slipping between their bodies, tugging at the buttons to Declan's shirt. It feels almost greedy, but he just wants more. Wants to touch and feel as much as he's allowed.

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.

He flushes a little at the question, that way he can hear that curl to the words that's almost a challenge. The way he almost asks if he's a virgin. He'd tried to obscure the answer earlier, less out of bravado and more out of a desire to not be treated like something breakable, like he didn't know what he wanted. But he isn't going to lie about it. Especially because he thinks that Declan's a bit too sharp to not notice, and Gansey isn't good at lying- it feels rather like the answer is already on the air.

"Oh, ah- no. But I want to." A little bit sheepish as he shrugs his shoulders, and if he wasn't already flushed with arousal and desire, the slight flush of his cheeks might have been more obvious. His gaze fastened on pale skin, and he can't help reaching out, tracing fingertips against the lines of his ribs and his hand trembles- like not being in physical contact is painful. There's less muscle on him than he'd assumed, having watched him go rounds with Ronan, but he's still lovely.

Even if it makes him want to do stupid things like bring dinner by on nights when he's busy. But that's a dangerous sort of desire.

Declan's smirk is wide and wild and dangerous at Gansey's response. The power in the situation suddenly tilts wildly in his favor, in a way that lets him feel free and playful. He flips them, using leverage and speed rather than solid strength, the same way he does in his fights with Ronan, and he pins Gansey down with a smirk that is predatory and mocking and yet not at all cruel.

"Is that so, Dick? Came to me for your virginity, did you?" His eyes sparkle with wickedness, suddenly seeming so much younger and playful, like the Declan who had been Gansey's friend years ago.

Dipping his head, Declan nuzzles innocently at Gansey's throat for just a moment before he latches on, suckling hard at the side of Gansey's neck with every intention of driving him wild and leaving him marked.

The way that smirk curls across his face, wild and dangerous, and it's a gorgeous look on him. He doesn't expect the way that Declan flips them, catching him off-guards and gasping with the surprise as he pins him down to the mattress. His breath catching, racing with the thrill of it. He's flushed with the way that he looks at him, predatory and mocking, but there's no cruelty to it, so it pulls a slightly shy smile from Gansey, looking up at him and letting him keep him pinned like this.

And he seems younger, playful, and it makes his heart ache for the nostalgia, the memory of it. Back when Gansey had been able to navigate between the both of them, and if anything it just makes him ache for it more. "I told you I wanted you," he gasps, as if that was the same as what he was offering.

Words shift into heated breath and a low moan as his mouth presses to the side of his neck. He doesn't even seem to mind, just trembles and tilts into it, baring his throat for him. Gansey's sensitive to touch there, and the way that he sucks at his skin sparks his body with desire. His hands palming against his shoulders as he gasps to try and catch his breath. He's not thinking about consequences, just about the way that it feels as his mouth presses a bruise into his skin.

"--Declan," he whimpers his name, but it's far from a protest.

Pleased with his work, Declan moves a little farther down, popping open Gansey's pants and grabbing them by the waistband, pulling down trousers and underwear all together. He strips off Gansey's clothes without any mercy or shame, then straddles Gansey's thighs in his own perfectly pressed slacks.

Enjoying being able to tease the virgin beneath him, Declan curls long fingers around Gansey's cock, stroking firmly from base to tip and squeezing his warm palm around the head.

Gansey murmurs, a rough gasp on his lips as Declan pulls away from the mark on his neck. He's not thinking about explanations he'll have to come up with, right now he's just thinking about the lingering heat of it, the way he can feel it on his skin like a brand. He flushes a little, but lifts his hips so that he can pull his pants and underwear down all at once. He's flushed and still trying to catch his breath at being stripped down, naked as Declan straddles his thighs.

It almost makes him dizzy, the way that slender fingers curl around his cock, his eyes fluttering at the heat of it, the way that pleasure cuts through him. He strokes his fingers from the base up to the tip, squeezing his palm against the tip, and he moans, feels almost helpless as he touches him. It's different than when he touches himself. His hands feel different and like he knows how to pull the pleasure from his body, to have him gasping for him.

His eyes fluttering, hazel looking up at him with a look that's all want, and he feels a little bit like Declan is going to ruin him. But he thinks he wants him to.

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.)

Gansey makes a helpless, strangled sort of sound at the way that he touches him. That thrill of how it feels to have someone else's touch on him, and how he squeezes against the head at the apex of the stroke. He can feel it on the air, that the suggestion of the glass is still there, and even if it hadn't broken, it still somehow feels like it could.

His face is flushed, and he can't help reaching up, palming fingers against Declan's skin, the slight scrape of trimmed-short nails just against his stomach. "Declan-" his name a heated gasp on his mouth, somewhere between a demand and a plea. Because he wants more, doesn't want Declan to wreck him this easy, despite how pleasure makes his hips twitch.

He doesn't want to make it this simple for him, either.

"I want you," he breathes, earnest and debauched all at once.

Declan's eyes are on Gansey's cock as his hand works. He's hypnotized by the motion of it, by the sight of another boy's cock in his hand. Gansey's thicker than he is, not quite as long, ruddy bronze where Declan's is ivory and rose, not that he's yet offered Gansey the chance to make the comparison in turn.

At Gansey's words, his eyes lift, locked on Gansey's face again, remembering once more that this is Gansey and that there's wrecking to be done.

His hand slips away and his weight lifts from Gansey's thighs. He's moving back--but not far.

Hands gripping tight to Gansey's hips, Declan settles on his knees by the side of the bed, not pausing for a moment before he angles Gansey's cock down and takes it into his mouth, sliding far enough for it to nudge against the back of his throat.

There's something about the way that Declan looks at him when his eyes lift, about his hand still curled around his cock. It makes his lightly tanned skin flush and pulls a whimper of protest from his mouth in that moment where it seems like he's moving away from him. But hands move to Gansey's hips, holding tight.

Declan doesn't really give him enough time to process the change before his mouth is around his cock, and it knocks the breath from him as surely as a punch to the chest. It's all slick wet heat, and he tries to keep his eyes open, but he can't help being overwhelmed by the sensation. The way that the head of his cock brushes against the back of his throat and it feels a little like having his breath choked from him, but in the sweetest, hottest sort of way that he could imagine. His eyelashes fluttering as his hazel eyes narrow to slits.

He doesn't remember moving his hands, but somehow one ends up clinging tight to Declan's shoulder like that point of contact is the only thing keeping him together. The other is soft fingers that brush against the dark of his hair, a sweet caress, carelessly affectionate. It takes him a bit to get his breath back. "God," is all he can gasp even then, the word soft on his tongue. No, no one had ever done this to him before.

Gansey feels almost ruined; teeth biting at his bottom lip, just trying to not immediately go to pieces. "Declan--" He can't even string words together at the moment.

Declan bobs his head without any hesitation. He performs with an efficient, professional skill. Not only has he done this before, he's mastered it, and yet. While his skill is flawless, there's something dispassionate about how he sucks Gansey off. Sliding down to take him deep into his throat without a hint of a gag reflex and then lifting back up, eyes closed. All business.

The fingertips in his hair are to be ignored, the hand on his shoulder to be forgotten. Gansey needs release, someone he can trust with his virginity, and Declan is here for him. It's nothing more than tha.

Gansey is sort of helplessly wrecked under the sensations, the way that it feels; a fact which plays in Declan's favor at the moment. He just can't really do anything to try and get under his skin, to pull him down closer to Gansey's state when Declan moves so smooth and easy, and all he can focus on is the way that pleasure burns through him. Soft gasps and low whimpers of heat. But he's certainly not impartial himself, fingers in his hair almost a caress, Declan's name on his mouth like a plea and a sob.

He's too new to this to resist, to be able to keep Declan from just unraveling him. Can hardly watch him through the slits framed by his lashes, he's so overwhelmed in the play of pleasure and heat and sensation. He wants more than this, even if in truth not giving him all he wanted is probably a sort of kindness. He couldn't really think about it anyway, his voice breaking on Declan's name.

Gansey just falling apart and clinging to him, all trembling touches. He's always been touch-starved and greedy in a way he tries to obscure, but right now there's nothing for him to hide behind.

Declan has done this before plenty of times. Sometimes for his own desire, wanting to touch and taste a cock, but more often he's done this for power. Grades, influence, blackmail... sometimes the easiest way to get something done is on his knees. He's never done this out of affection. He doesn't go down on his girlfriends. That's not the kind of relationship he has with them, and they all instinctively seem to know it.

So when he takes Gansey into his mouth, bobbing his head with professional precision, it isn't a gesture of affection. It's something he knows how to do, a way to offer pleasure and create debt without giving any of his own vulnerability.

The sounds that Gansey makes are sweet and lovely, something to admire, but Declan carefully locks it away to enjoy later, in private or perhaps never.

Declan doesn't know how to do this with intimacy or vulnerability. It's only something to be given, a favor for Gansey which creates a sort of debt, a hint of blackmail that he can use later whenever he wants to end a conversation or stop Gansey from pressing. Later, he thinks, this will be something for Gansey to regret. For Declan, it's simply a task to complete.

Gansey hasn't done this enough to have any hope of it being something that impartial. And he has the luxury of being fairly unaware of the side of sexuality that is about obligation and influence. He has no resistance to the way that he takes him apart, can't even properly see the way that Declan does this to avoid the vulnerability of it.

But he's wrong that it'll be something Gansey regrets. Maybe something with leverage to it; but it would never occur to him that Declan might exploit this. Too new to this in a way that's almost naive- he gives so much of himself away, all affection and vulnerability, the soft pieces of himself he thought were better hidden than they were. Desire, want, attraction. He tries to say something, a warning as he hits the edge of what he can stand, but it comes out broken. A whimper and a moan and Declan's name all curled together as his body shakes like he might break.

It's different than touching himself. More, overwhelming, when his orgasm hits him it takes away everything else, makes everything else seem silent and still. He pulls his hand away from Declan's shoulder, trying to press fingers to his own mouth, muffle the sounds that he makes. Exposed down to heart and marrow.

Declan catches it in his mouth, but he doesn't swallow.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he rises without a glance at Gansey and goes to the bathroom, spitting the seed into the sink. It's slick and pearlescent against the porcelain, mixed with his saliva.

These gestures are automatic. He could do them in his sleep. Rinses his mouth, spits again. If his hand is shaking, he doesn't notice. Takes a toothbrush and toothpaste that don't belong to him and brushes his teeth.

He feels brittle and fragile in a way he's not accustomed to. Cold, like he could dissolve into helpless shivering at any moment. His control over himself is more tenuous by the second, and he holds onto it with all the more desperation because of that.

When he returns, he slips into his familiar role because it's what he knows. Easier to pretend that nothing has changed. Easier to not let himself be vulnerable. (He doesn't know how, anyway. He doesn't think there's anything beneath the veneer but broken glass. If he ever let anyone in, they'd only cut themselves on the wreckage of his soul.)

"There you go, Gansey boy. No longer a virgin. Feel different?" His tone is dry and flippant, as if he'd offered no favor more significant than sharing notes from a missed class.

Gansey couldn't have said what was wrong, exactly. Something about the way that he pulls away, maybe, like he doesn't want what they just did to touch him. It's not regret, not really, more like worry or concern that sparks in the hazel-green of his eyes.

He doesn't answer the question. Not the one that Declan asks, at least.

"Did I do something wrong?" There's a smile that curves his mouth, but it's sad and a little bit bittersweet. He's so very new to this, so he couldn't have said exactly what it was that felt off. But something felt wrong, like this hadn't actually been something that Declan wanted. Which is a thought that makes him feel like he'll come unmoored if he focuses on it for more than a moment at a time.

Skin still exposed to the air, exposed in more ways than the softness in his eyes when he looks at him, all uncertainty and care.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he offers, somehow sure that he had. He's always so clumsy with other people.

"Hurt me?" Declan repeats, brows tugging together in puzzlement at that ridiculous suggestion.

Gansey's all pouty and sensitive now. The typical clingy virgin. Nothing more than that, nothing to tug at his heart, and he brushes back a wet, weighty feeling at the back of his throat, a sentimental guilt that wants him to stop lying for just one minute, but that's nothing. Lying is an instinct now, and crucial to his survival.

"You're not that big," he says, with a little smirk to dismiss it.

Easy to pop up his collar and leave. Task done, and if he leaves now, it'll be done between them. A one-time thing. Nothing to discuss ever again.

Picking up the fallen glass, Declan pours himself another drink. He keeps his back to Gansey as he pours, then drinks.

"That is not what I meant," he says, taking it in stride. He's pretty sure that Declan meant it as an insult, something to try and push him away, but Gansey's neither that shallow or easily dissuaded.

His voice is soft and careful, caring in that way that if this was Adam it would have already triggered a fight. He would have called it pity and in worrying Gansey would have said something that made it worse. What do you need?, it's the question he doesn't ask, but the one that's tucked just behind his teeth. He takes an even breath, pushes down the ache and the burn of the hurt, something on his skin that he couldn't have entirely explained.

He pulls on his pants, so he's at least not indecent, then a shirt. So he looks more like this is somehow acceptable, even if he's sure that they aren't.

"You didn't want this, did you?" He keeps his voice mild, doesn't let his own hurt touch the way that he talks, even if it's in his chest. "I just don't-" He forces himself to pause, to think of his words before he speaks. Declan is sharp as a blade, but he's aware of how easy it would be for Declan to walk out the door.

"I didn't intend to make it seem like I expected anything you didn't want." His original question had felt more barbed than he wanted it to be. He didn't want to put this on Declan, make it seem like he was asking him to answer for some sort of transgression.

Declan rolls his eyes, even though he's aware that Gansey can't appreciate it while his back is still turned. Gansey like a kicked puppy. So loyal, so hopeful. Declan knows how to deal with clingy virgins from the banter of other wealthy, entitled rich boys, the ones who know that nothing's illegal if you're wealthy enough. The whole world is disposable for them. Declan's good at pretending to be them. He's good at pretending to be a lot of things.

His head aches. He sets his glass down and gives Gansey a look, which says something along the lines of my head aches and here you are asking stupid questions

or, do you think i sucked your cock because i just can't stand the conflict of saying no

or, i've sucked a cock before, it's not a big deal

or, i just want it to not be a big deal.

He takes the next drink straight from the neck of the bottle, guzzling a reckless amount like it's water. Then he slams the bottle down, enough to risk it breaking (it doesn't), and grabs Gansey by the back of the neck, kissing him ferociously.

Edited 2021-04-27 03:02 (UTC)

Gansey catches the look that Declan shoots him, and he's typically good at decoding the specifics of a sharp look across a crowded room. It's both a survival skill growing up the Gansey household- when everyone else was fluent in subtlety the only option was to learn to speak the language- and god knows that Adam and Ronan were easier to decode in how they spoke with their bodies than their words half the time.

But Declan is learning a new dialect, not the same sort of anger layered over hurt that was Ronan. And he isn't careless enough to pretend they're the same creature. He can understand thinking he's asking stupid questions, or wanting it to not be a big deal. But Gansey doesn't really know how to be that careless, to not want to do the right thing for Declan.

"Declan.." He was going to say something. Some sort of reassurance, probably. But then the bottle slams down and he half expects anger, that he's pressing too close, and instead he kisses him. And that was not the turn of things Gansey was expecting. There's a gasp, the hitch of his breath, the way that his mouth tilts into the contact, touch-starved, and he thinks he could drown himself in every time he kisses him. He'd wanted a conversation to make sure that things were okay, and this isn't a conversation. But he can't bring himself to stop.

Gansey can't help the way that he presses into it, kissing him back before he even clearly thinks of the desire. Declan's fingers against the back of his neck, lips to lips and he melts. His own fingers sliding against Declan's skin, giving away how much he wants him almost carelessly. His heart skips and he leans into it, threads his other hand into his dark hair.

Something about Declan, about the way that he kisses him, makes him feel almost decadent like this. Greedy.

Suddenly, I'm a fiend and you're all I need

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