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linndechirTitle: My Wild Lover, My Wicked Beast
Fandom: The Raven Cycle
Pairings/Characters: Ronan Lynch/Richard Gansey III
Rating: NC-17
Words: 6332
Warnings: none really
Summary: Ronan doesn't want to go home yet after Kavinsky's substance party. And this is not the kind of night when Gansey wants to hold him back.
Author's Note: Apparently I didn't repost my ShipSwap fic here because I'm an idiot. Written for my dearest braintwin![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
outboxed because I end up writing for her even when I don't do the matching. ;)
They were halfway home when Ronan veered into a side road, the turn so sudden that the tyres screeched on the asphalt. His pulse was still racing, the deep bass of the music driving it on and on, and thinking of the familiar safety of Monmouth suddenly felt claustrophobic, felt like he'd have to end this night too soon. Like he'd have to give up the Gansey that was sitting next to him now, still with that smile clinging to the corner of his mouth, the almost cruel twist of his lips.
"Where are we going?" Gansey asked. No complaint, no reproach. Not even when Ronan stepped on the pedal again and let the BMW soar forward, far beyond anything as mundane as speed limits.
"I don't know," Ronan said, and he didn't. It didn't seem to matter, not while he was in his car with Gansey beside him. He thought about it for a moment. "We could go to the Barns."
He regretted saying it the moment the words left his lips, flinched at the sharp sting he felt in the hollow cavity of his chest. This night was for the present, not the fucking past, and here he was again thinking of all the things he'd lost. Of home home home. Going back there once had only made him ache for it more, had made him more furious at Declan for keeping him away. Ronan didn't look at Gansey, it was enough to hear his soft sigh. Even this Gansey, the one with fire in his eyes, wouldn't allow this.
We could go to Cabeswater, was Ronan's next thought. It would be like leading Gansey into his dreams, leading him to those trees that Ronan had dreamt of since he was a boy, and they'd keep up their chase under the moonlight. But Cabeswater was gone and they didn't have a clue how to find it again, and even Ronan wasn't cruel enough to remind Gansey of that tonight.
He didn't want to see that uncertainty on Gansey's face again, the sorrow, the brooding. For once the fire in Gansey's eyes wasn't for Glendower and Cabeswater, it wasn't for his quest, nor for Adam and Noah and Blue. Just like Ronan clung to the past, Gansey's mind was always on the future he craved, but tonight they were both living in the present. Ronan wasn't going to destroy that. This was his Gansey, the one who belonged to nobody but Ronan and himself. This was a Gansey the others didn't even get to know of.
"We don't have to go anywhere." Ronan shrugged. He suddenly wished that Gansey wasn't on the passenger seat, but next to him on the road, racing him in the Camaro. He wished Kavinsky would show up next to them, so Ronan could race him with Gansey egging him on, but the Mitsubishi was burnt to the ground and K was getting shitfaced at his party.
"Then let me drive." Gansey's eyes were glinting in the street-lamps, bright and wide. Ronan brought the BMW to a halt with another loud screech. Part of him felt like arguing, demanding that he get to drive the Pig next time if he let Gansey drive his BMW, but fuck that. There was nothing Ronan could deny Gansey on a night like this. They didn't get out of the car to change places, just climbed over each other with the easy familiarity of brothers. Gansey's body felt hotter than it had any right to as it brushed against Ronan's, and for a moment Ronan's world was reduced to nothing but the smell of sweat and the cologne they both used, but which always ended up smelling just the slightest bit different on Gansey's skin than on his own. And mixed with that still the smell of gasoline and cars and tyre rubber on asphalt, and it passed in a split second or Ronan would have pressed his face against Gansey's chest to breathe him in.
Gansey laughed when he stepped on the gas, a sound like shattering glass that was nothing like Ronan's own laughter, nothing like K's mad laughter at the party. Gansey didn't laugh like the world was a music video, he laughed like the world was a kingdom and his to rule. The joy in his eyes was boyish and carefree, the furthest thing from that too old look Ronan sometimes hated. For all that Gansey loved the Pig more than any other possession in the world, driving the BMW was a different kind of pleasure. It wasn't hard, it required no care or finesse, it was a wild animal that bucked and ran and gave you the ride of your damn life if you just knew how to let it.
Ronan closed his eyes, feeling the speed in his bones, the sharp wind slapping his face through the open windows, the bass vibrating in his chest. This, just this, was happiness, and it was even sweeter for being shared with Gansey for once. He wasn't sure for how long they drove, wasn't sure where the hell Gansey was headed, but when the car slowed and stopped and he opened his eyes they were at the edge of a small forest. For a moment he thought Cabeswater, but he realised that was but wishful thinking. Just a normal forest, dark trees barely illuminated by the dim moonlight, tall enough to hide the small path that led up to it from the main road.
Gansey glanced at him before he pulled himself out of the car, that same energetic motion as earlier at the party. He was quieter now, pondering maybe on what Kavinsky had said, wondering who else had broken into their place, but he was still brimming with too much raw energy to get lost in his thoughts. Ronan followed a bit more slowly, not taking his eyes off Gansey now.
The night was still scorching hot. Ronan had thought it had just been the fires at the fairground, but the summer heat hadn't let up one bit after sundown. He felt his tank top sticking to his back, and even Gansey looked sweaty. The light blue polo shirt clang to his chest, to the muscles on either side of his spine, and in the BMW's headlights his forehead shone with sweat, his hair darkened from it, curling against tanned skin. Ronan felt a knot in his throat, seeing Gansey this approachable again. It wasn't like seeing him tired and vulnerable in the middle of the night when neither of them could sleep. This Gansey was no less glorious for looking more human. This was the Gansey he had first brought home with him, the Gansey who had laughed in pure delight when he first saw the Barns, who had bantered with Niall Lynch five minutes after meeting him, who had charmed his way through what had almost been a shovel talk and all but got Ronan's father to adopt him on the spot. Ronan wondered if Adam had ever seen Gansey like this. The very idea made him want to smash something.
"Where the fuck are we?" Ronan asked while Gansey kicked a few dry leaves at his feet.
"Does it matter?" Gansey was looking at him now. There was something thoughtful in his eyes, but it wasn't his usual scholarly brooding. When Ronan didn't reply, Gansey continued, "Is that what all of Kavinsky's parties are like?"
What he meant was, Is that what you and Kavinsky get up to when I'm not there? Ronan thought of car chases under the cold light of street lamps, thought of K's biting laughter and sharper words, of the jut of his hipbones in the floodlights. He shrugged and leant back against the still warm hood of the BMW. He didn't want to talk about Kavinsky. He didn't want Gansey to turn back into whatever it was he'd thought he had to become after … After. The Gansey who thought he had to control Ronan for his own good.
"Is that what you want?" Gansey pressed on, and he stepped closer. His voice was tight, but not in that almost imperious way he used when he told Ronan what to do. Ronan couldn't put his finger on the difference, but it was there, glaringly obvious to someone for whom Gansey's voice was the only one worth listening to. "I know what your dog wants," Gansey echoed Kavinsky's words, and Ronan felt a shudder hearing them from Gansey's lips. His dog. He'd punched K for a shitton of things, but never for calling him that. The words filled him with a savage pride.
"You know what he wants, right?" Gansey continued when Ronan still said nothing.
"To fuck with me?" Ronan shrugged again. He didn't think he liked where this conversation was going. "He likes racing me. Guess he gets tired of his cronies and his hookers."
"That's not all he wants," Gansey said. The dark glint in his eyes was almost dangerous. Ronan loved it, and he feared it because he wasn't used to not knowing what was going on in Gansey's head. So he did the only thing he knew how to do and lashed out.
"Do you have to fucking ruin this, Gansey?" he growled. "I thought we were having fun tonight, and you're –"
He interrupted himself when Gansey closed the last bit of distance between them, stepped so close that Ronan could smell him again, feel his breath on his skin. If anyone else got that close to him, especially with that kind of look in their eyes, Ronan would have floored them already, but with Gansey all he did was tense up a little and jut out his chin in a challenge.
"This is not about him being trouble, this is about the way he looks at you." Gansey stopped, paled a fraction, as if he'd said more than he wanted to, but then he pushed on, "Like a dog salivating at a bone."
"I thought I was the dog," Ronan replied, his mouth running on automatic because his brain was going haywire. The things Gansey said, the things he implied – Ronan didn't even let himself imagine them except in the darkest hours of the night, in dreams of oil-stained hands and snarling lips and a filthy smirk pressed against his neck, dreams he only didn't repress even more because he was afraid of what, of whom he'd dream instead. Some secrets couldn't even be dreamt.
"My dog."
Gansey's voice was as smooth as polished stone, he'd never stoop so low as to growl, but his voice went through Ronan's entire body like the still blaring bass of the stereo, like those few words were enough to drive the thought of anyone else from Ronan's mind and make him Gansey's own again. Ronan would have been furious on any other night, furious that Gansey wanted to take the one thing from him that made him so mindlessly happy, but he didn't snap at him now. The air between them felt electric, from Gansey's body as much as from the summer heat, from that gleam in Gansey's eyes. Ronan wanted to ask what the fuck Gansey was saying, but his mouth felt dry and he couldn't tear his eyes away from the dip between Gansey's collarbones, the shine of sweat on the hollow of his throat, and there was nothing vulnerable in that, nothing soft. He didn't think there was anything soft about this Gansey.
And then his skin caught on fire when Gansey grabbed his chin, strong fingers slick with sweat, and Ronan's mind was still reeling when Gansey leant in and pressed his lips against Ronan's. Dry and hard and angry almost, the same insistent pressure as when Gansey grabbed his arm to hold him back from a fight, like there was no doubt in the world that Ronan would obey him.
Ronan couldn't move. He hadn't even dared to think about this, and then Gansey was gone before Ronan could react, a sudden step backwards, all that certainty crumbling into doubt, his eyes wide with wonder now as if kissing Ronan had torn him out of whatever state he'd worked himself into. He looked shocked at himself, like a man who'd killed in a fit of rage and suddenly found his hands covered in blood.
As far as Ronan was concerned, if he ever found Gansey covered in someone else's blood, he'd help him hide the body.
So he grabbed Gansey's wrist and yanked him close again, running more on instinct than anything else, just knowing that he didn't want to lose Gansey to his doubts again. He pulled him close with too much force until Gansey stumbled against him, and kissed him like a wolf ripping into its prey, teeth and hunger burrowing into Gansey's bottom lip. He kissed him, he realised, like he would have kissed Kavinsky if he didn't despise him so much.
If he'd felt alive before, he was burning now. The real world rarely compared to his dreams, the sensations always dimmed and muted unless the adrenaline of a car chase was pumping through his veins, but in that moment reality all but overwhelmed him, the heat of the BMW and the heat of Gansey's body, the taste of mint leaves and sharp vodka, the softness of Gansey's lips, unmoving for a moment underneath his before Gansey's tongue slipped between Ronan's lips. The sensation was unfamiliar, and yet it felt inevitable, like Gansey was merely claiming something that had been his all along, something that had been waiting for him without either of them being aware of it.
Gansey's hand went to Ronan's shoulder, the other to his throat before he thought better of it and grabbed his tank top instead, and he hoisted Ronan up onto the hood of the BMW in a gesture that mirrored Ronan's own that night, when he'd thrown Kavinsky over the hood of his Mitsubishi and punched his face bloody. Gansey had never learnt how to fight properly, but the crew training had left him with arms almost as strong as Ronan's, and without Ronan fighting back he could manhandle him easily.
Ronan wouldn't have fought back in a million years. In the sweltering summer heat the warm metal should have been unbearable under his back, burning against his skin where his tank top rode up, but Ronan loved his car, his father's car, almost as much as he loved Gansey, and somehow this felt more right than any bed could have. Gansey was hotter than the metal against Ronan's body, his mouth like a furnace on Ronan's as if he could burn every thought of Kavinsky out of him, and fuck if he couldn't, fuck if Ronan even remembered anything other than the slope of Gansey's back under his hand, the sharp jut of his hipbone where Ronan's fingers grabbed him tightly.
There was nothing comfortable about this, no purchase to be had with his feet just barely touching the ground anymore and Gansey writhing on top of him. It took some angry pulling to get Gansey's shirt off, and Gansey didn't even manage that, just pushed Ronan's tank over his head and left it there, tangled around his elbows. Ronan could have freed himself of it, but a thrill went through his body when Gansey pulled back enough to look at him, at Ronan's prone form stretched out over the hood, his arms all but tied above his head, his fingers scrambling in vain for any purchase on the windshield. Ronan was as tightly wound as before a fight, and Gansey curled his fingers around Ronan's hips like he was grabbing another molotov cocktail.
Ronan bared his throat, let himself be held down and burnt and devoured as Gansey's teeth raked over his neck, catching on his collarbones, sliding over the sweat of his chest and placing a sharp bite just above his nipple, and he didn't pull away until Ronan felt the bruise blooming on his skin. He swallowed a sound that only could have been a whimper, and fuck if this wasn't as intense as only his dreams ever were, but more real; no fucked up, creepy whispers in the trees, just the heavy summer heat and the rustle of clothes and Gansey's moans against his skin.
And then, "fuck, Ronan," hands catching on his belt before yanking down his jeans. There was something disturbingly helpless about his position, the tangled jeans around his knees constricting him even more than his tank top did, but for all that he wanted to touch Gansey, he didn't move, unsure if that wouldn't break the spell. He didn't think he could move when Gansey shifted again, fidgeting with his own clothes before he pressed back against Ronan, their skin sticking together, and there was no way Ronan could have stayed quiet when Gansey's cock brushed against his own. His body wasn't his own anymore, like a less terrifying version of that same paralysis he felt when he woke up from his dreams, less terrifying only because his body was Gansey's now, Gansey's to have whichever way he wanted him. Gansey's hand back on his hip as if he still had to pin Ronan down, the other moving up to his neck and curling around it, thumb above his pulse point. Ronan felt his blood thumping against Gansey's finger, thought he could feel Gansey's heartbeat mirroring his own in that same small spot.
Suddenly holding still wasn't an option anymore, so he awkwardly wrapped his arms around Gansey, his wrists still entangled in the fabric of his shirt, but it was enough to hold on to him, enough to keep Gansey from going anywhere. Gansey wasn't moving fast, just rocking against him best as he could, his weight pressing Ronan down against the warm metal. It was too much and it wasn't enough, it was like flooring the gas pedal and still wanting to go faster.
"Gansey, fuck, come on," Ronan groaned, hips bucking up, legs shifting as if there was any way he could get them around Gansey. "Just fucking –" It wasn't that he didn't know what he was asking for; he'd seen enough porn to know exactly what he meant, to know exactly what it was Gansey could be doing to him right now, with Ronan bent over the hood, but somehow Ronan had a hard time connecting the two, the impersonal images porn had put in his mind and the weight and smell of Gansey's body, like they were two completely different things, worlds apart.
But then he thought that maybe Gansey had no trouble making that connection because he pulled back just long enough to grab Ronan again. For a horrified moment Ronan feared he'd stop, that he'd realise what a fucking mistake he was making, but all Gansey did was try to flip him over, and once Ronan realised that was what he was doing, he turned obligingly, finally struggling out of his tank top while he did. The warm metal felt even better against Ronan's chest, the smell of his beloved car filling his nostrils while Gansey's hands slid over his back, tenderly now, as if he had to apologise for his roughness the moment before. His fingertips were retracing the tattoo, Ronan realised after a second, redrawing lines and hooks and thorns, and Ronan closed his eyes to visualise his tattoo, to understand which parts of it Gansey was touching – those intricate curls at the base of his spine that looked in the right light like a single blossom in an ocean of thorns, and up the tendrils that climbed all the way to his shoulder blades, fingers stopping only to be replaced by Gansey's lips, kissing Ronan's sweaty skin more softly than before.
That gentle touch whispered "mine" as loudly as Gansey's teeth had claimed him, and Ronan shuddered, bucked back against him. Gansey moved closer, his cock sliding against Ronan's ass, slick with sweat and precome, and Ronan wondered if Gansey would do what he thought he might do. It wasn't something he'd let himself fantasise about, not with Gansey, not with anyone, but he realised in that moment, like he'd realised a hundred times before in his life, that there was nothing he wouldn't give Gansey, and gladly.
"Are you gonna do it or are you gonna be a fucking tease about this?" He barely recognised his own voice, the words sounded crass even to his own ears, but he could feel Gansey smile against his back. Smile, and then bite him so hard that Ronan could feel the pain jolt through his entire back. A full body shudder and he noticed Gansey hesitating, so Ronan reached behind himself to dig his fingers into Gansey's hip and keep him close. "Don't you fucking dare stop."
The tension seeped out of Gansey's body again and he kissed the same spot he'd just bitten, whispered a soft "neither" into his skin. His cock slid against Ronan's ass again, and then Gansey let it slip between Ronan's sweat-slick thighs. It was – not what he expected, fuck, but but he could feel Gansey's cock nudge his balls, and feel more than hear Gansey's moans against his back. He pressed his thighs closer together and got a louder moan for his trouble, kept shifting underneath Gansey, and if that meant dragging his own cock over the warm metal of his car, he sure as hell wasn't going to complain. Gansey's hands were back where they had held him before, one on Ronan's hip, the other on his neck, this time pressing his face down against the car. It was dizzying, the heat and the closeness and the heavy air he could barely draw into his lungs, and those fucking sounds Gansey made against his back. Ronan wished he could see his face, could see Gansey lose it the way he could hear him, breathless gasps and moans, and Gansey was never that fucking vocal while jerking off (which Ronan only knew because they lived together and it was impossible not to walk in on Gansey jerking off every now and then, he certainly hadn't been planning for that to happen).
Ronan felt like he was floating and oddly grounded at the same time, like this was half a dream and half so fucking real it drove him mad, and his perception was so reduced to one single thing in the whole world that he had no clue how long this lasted until Gansey's teeth sunk into his shoulder again and Gansey came with a slow shudder. Gansey's hand followed, cooping up some of his own come so his fingers were as slick as Ronan's thighs when they awkwardly found their way underneath Ronan and wrapped around his cock, hesitating for half a second before their grip tightened. Rough strokes, rougher than Ronan would have expected from Gansey, the tip of Ronan's cock getting dragged over the hood on every one of them, and Ronan all but laughed when he came, laughed because he couldn't help but think about how he was going to have to get his car cleaned after this. Or maybe he should just leave it like this and let the rest of the world think whatever the fuck they wanted to think, whatever the fuck they were thinking of him already.
He was still dizzy when Gansey let go of him and pulled back, and by the time he'd gathered enough strength to straighten up, turn around, and lean back against the hood, Gansey had already tucked himself back in. Didn't make him look any less messed up, wiping his hands on a handkerchief, his hair almost soaked. He was smiling a lazy, content smile, the smile of summer afternoons spent dragging furniture into Monmouth Manufacturing, of playful punches against Ronan's shoulder until Ronan wrestled him down to the floor and they both laughed until they were wheezing, the smile of strolling through the corridors of Aglionby followed by whispers and their name drawn into one word, GanseyandRonan. That smile from before.
It softened a bit as he offered Ronan the already soppy handkerchief, but Ronan picked up Gansey's shirt from the ground instead and wiped himself clean with that, grinning about the disgusted look on Gansey's face.
"Was that really necessary?" Gansey asked, and he almost sounded again like … like Gansey sounded in the daylight, the Gansey that was for public consumption. Ronan gave him a filthy look and threw him the shirt before pulling up his jeans and closing them. Looking at Gansey now, his eyes slowly growing more serious, the corner of his mouth drawn up in distaste as he examined his shirt, Ronan began to realise the magnitude of what had just happened. Of what they'd done, of what they couldn't come back from. There was a reason he'd forced Gansey out of his fantasies, a reason he kept this part of himself locked up tight, a reason he kept repeating the word brother over and over in his head whenever his chest felt too tight with longing.
He could see the same thoughts, or similar ones, flashing over Gansey's face. Doubt and something that looked too much like regret for Ronan's taste. Like this was going to be one of those things Gansey felt sorry for afterwards because he hadn't really meant it that way. Like this night was a car crash and Ronan was something he'd slammed into by accident.
"What the fuck did you go and do that for?" Ronan snapped before Gansey could apologise or any of that bullshit; pushed himself away from the hood to reach into the car, rummaging until he found a half-empty bottle of whiskey from the last time he'd gone out racing at night. He didn't look at Gansey so he didn't have to see the hurt in his eyes.
"I'm sorry," Gansey said quietly, and Ronan's chest felt like someone had thrown him down to the floor and forced the air out of his lungs. He gulped down some of the whiskey, let it burn in his throat until he could breathe again before he turned to glare at Gansey.
"For what?" He'd have Gansey say it, say whatever the fuck Gansey thought he'd done wrong, or whatever he thought was wrong with Ronan. He wasn't sure what he expected, wasn't sure which wounds he was poking his fingers into, but what he hadn't expected was –
"I try not to play favourites and this was –"
"Don't fucking talk to me like you're a, a school teacher and we're your fucking students," Ronan snapped. Another gulp of whiskey, alcohol fuelling and stoking his anger. "The others have nothing to do with us. Fuck them."
Gansey looked almost more hurt by that than by Ronan's previous words, and Ronan could see the way Gansey drew himself together, hiding all those soft parts that he only ever showed him at night, hiding them under that façade he used for strangers. Ronan wondered what he'd have to do to smash it for good.
"You don't mean that," Gansey just said, his voice matter-of-fact, sickeningly so, like this was some childish argument Gansey was above. And because Ronan didn't lie, he didn't object. It wasn't like he didn't care about the others. He'd miss fooling around with Noah, he'd miss the nonsense he could talk Adam into or even just his quiet presence by his side when Ronan couldn't be alone, he'd even miss Blue glaring up at him from her diminutive height and lecturing him for something or other he wasn't supposed to say. But he wouldn't miss any of them half as much as he missed tonight's Gansey when he disappeared for months at a time, like he was afraid of liking this side of himself too much.
"They don't change anything about us," Ronan said instead. "You told me that, Gansey, when you started dragging Adam along with you wherever you went. You said he wasn't taking anything from me."
"What is that even supposed to mean, Ronan?" Gansey looked genuinely puzzled, tired like a burnt out car, and Ronan hated that more than when Gansey was mad at him. He glared down at the bottle and drank from it again, turned half away from him so he wouldn't have to see Gansey.
"You have them, and you have a fucking fit when I even go near K."
"Because he's trouble. Because he doesn't know you like I do."
Ronan suddenly had a sick thought that maybe Gansey didn't know him at all, just knew the Ronan he wanted back, the Ronan that was still whole, the Ronan he didn't have to worry about. The one he didn't have to put a leash on to keep him from burning himself or someone else. He wondered if he knew Gansey at all, or rather if he knew which of all those layers that Gansey showed to him and only to him was the one that truly mattered.
"Did you just do this to get here before he did?" Ronan's skin was still slick with sweat, his own and Gansey's, and he'd never imagined that Gansey's touch could make him feel so dirty.
For a few seconds Gansey didn't react at all, like he didn't even know what Ronan was talking about, and then Ronan could feel the air change behind him, tangible anger and disappointment even before Gansey moved. He stepped behind Ronan, both hands on his shoulders gripping him tight.
"You know me better than that," he only said, and Ronan's shoulders slumped. For all his doubts, he did know that Gansey would never do this, not to anyone, but most certainly not to him, not knowing Ronan like he did.
"Do you think I'm jealous of Kavinsky?" Gansey said, disbelief in his voice. "I know he can't have you. Ronan, I know you do a lot of stupid shit I don't approve of, but even you're not that stupid."
"I'd end up with every fucking STD civilisation has ever seen, and a few more he's imported from Russia," Ronan said, and his chest felt a bit lighter the moment the words left his lips. He felt Gansey laugh softly, and then Gansey's hands slid down Ronan's arms, retracing every nook and hollow until they curled around Ronan's wrists. Not painfully, but firmly enough that Ronan would have had trouble tearing himself away. He relaxed, shoulders slumped, arms loose, his head bowed. An inch of hot air was all that separated Gansey's chest from Ronan's back; soft lips ghosted over the base of Ronan's neck.
"Maybe he … forced my hand, but this didn't happen because of him. You think he matters enough to me for that?" Another kiss, and both thumbs pressed into the inside of Ronan's wrists. He could feel his pulse slow down under Gansey's touch, because Gansey did know him, he always knew what Ronan needed. "I told you, we're nothing like him. We matter, you and I."
Ronan didn't have trouble believing that about Gansey, Gansey with his family and all his friends, Gansey who was loved by every fucking person he ever met. "To whom?"
"To each other," Gansey just said, like that was the only thing that counted. Because for all that Gansey could have the whole damn world, he had chosen to be here, with Ronan. "Nobody gives a shit about Kavinsky."
That brought another smile to Ronan's lips. He wouldn't exchange this for anything, not even for the gasoline- and alcohol-fuelled madness of Kavinsky's world. Not while Gansey was here.
"Can you stay away from him?" Gansey asked after a minute, his voice no less intense for being so quiet. The world would be a much easier place if Gansey just stayed by his side.
Ronan never lied, so he didn't answer the question, just made a face and said, "I hate it when you sound like my brother."
But he still didn't move away, didn't try to free his hands from Gansey's grip. Gansey smiled against his neck, his lips still retracing the upmost twists and turns of the tattoo.
"If I sounded like Declan, I'd tell you to stay the fuck away from him or else," and there was a lightness in his voice that reassured Ronan even though the thought of his brother made him brim with anger. "Just don't let him have this."
"Never." Ronan meant that, meant it with absolute certainty, because for all that meeting K on the streets made his blood race like few other things ever did, the thought of touching him made his skin crawl, and not only because he couldn't help now but compare it to the touch of Gansey's fingers, his smell and his taste and the feather-light kisses on his neck.
"Good boy." Teasing with just a hint of steel underneath; this was the Gansey who kept an eye on Ronan and took care of him, and for all that Ronan loved him for that, he already started missing the wildness in Gansey's voice, especially once it dropped lower still, quiet and sad almost. "I still have to go to D.C. tomorrow."
"I know," Ronan just said, because what else was there to say? He still felt sick at the thought of letting Gansey run off to that other part of his life, not just his family when Ronan didn't have a family left, but that sickening pull of the real world, of dinner parties and suits and ties that Ronan couldn't help but worry about losing Gansey to. Sometimes Ronan couldn't suppress that irrational fear that there might come a day, maybe only after they'd found Glendower, when Gansey would want that same normal life that Adam dreamt of, that Declan dreamt of, when he'd happily accept that noose around the neck that Ronan couldn't wait to escape. He couldn't say any of those things, couldn't say them now anymore than when they'd left the party.
"It's not for long," Gansey said apologetically, and at least for now Ronan could be sure that he wouldn't lose Gansey, that there was no place in the world where Gansey would rather be than right here with him.
"I know," Ronan said again. "I'll be here when you get back."
It was as much of a promise as he could make. Because Ronan might run off for a night, might get drunk out of his mind and race until his grief was pumped out of his veins, might smash his fists into faces Gansey wouldn't even deign to look at, but in the morning he'd still come home – not to the home that Declan had taken from him, but to the only home he had left now, by Gansey's side. It was the promise that he'd still be there even after Adam and Blue had taken off to college some day in the future, because even though nobody ever spoke of it, they all knew that neither of those two would be happy with a life as Gansey's sidekick. But Ronan … as long as Gansey still wanted him, Ronan was his.
Gansey thanked him with another kiss to his neck, nuzzling it gently, still holding Ronan in place with a steady grip. Minutes passed like that before Gansey let go of his wrists and wrapped his arms around Ronan instead, stepped closer until he was pressed flush against him, his cheek between Ronan's shoulder blades. Ronan tried to remember the last time Gansey had hugged him. The last time anyone had hugged him. Nights came to his mind in the weeks after his father's death, when he'd woken up in sweat and tears, or when he hadn't slept in days and was shaking from exhaustion, and Gansey would be there, quiet and calm, knowing just when to wrap an arm around Ronan's wrecked body and hold him. It hadn't helped, not if helping meant making him feel better, because nothing in the world could have dulled the pain in his heart, but he had felt like he was going insane in those nights, and Gansey had been his anchor. Ronan wondered when they'd stopped doing this, if he'd seemed like he was getting better, or if he'd just rejected the offered comfort once too often.
Now he only leant back against Gansey and breathed in the summer heat, letting minutes pass while the world returned to normal, to something manageable, to something he could live in. His heartbeat had slowed by the time Gansey stepped back. Ronan turned in time to catch a slightly embarrassed grin flitting over Gansey's face.
"Let's go home?" Gansey asked. There was something beautifully boyish in that smile, or maybe it was the fact that he still was shirtless that made him look younger. Ronan grinned a little at the thought, picked up his tank top from the forest ground and put it back on before he slid into the driver's seat, left Gansey to mutter a little about his ruined shirt before he followed.
It wasn't until later that night, after Ronan had showered, glanced at Gansey already passed out in his bed, and fallen into his own bed to get some rest before the helicopter would wake him in the morning, that he realised something. Gansey hadn't actually told him why he'd done this, if it'd been nothing but adrenaline and exuberance and whimsy. He hadn't told him if this would ever happen again, or if it would be as rare as those precious glimpses at the Gansey he loved best, the Gansey who was wild and dangerous and greedy for the world.
For a moment Ronan considered waking Gansey and asking him, but the thought of Gansey leaving in the morning was heavy on his mind, and he didn't think he could bear the answer.
Fandom: The Raven Cycle
Pairings/Characters: Ronan Lynch/Richard Gansey III
Rating: NC-17
Words: 6332
Warnings: none really
Summary: Ronan doesn't want to go home yet after Kavinsky's substance party. And this is not the kind of night when Gansey wants to hold him back.
Author's Note: Apparently I didn't repost my ShipSwap fic here because I'm an idiot. Written for my dearest braintwin
outboxed because I end up writing for her even when I don't do the matching. ;)They were halfway home when Ronan veered into a side road, the turn so sudden that the tyres screeched on the asphalt. His pulse was still racing, the deep bass of the music driving it on and on, and thinking of the familiar safety of Monmouth suddenly felt claustrophobic, felt like he'd have to end this night too soon. Like he'd have to give up the Gansey that was sitting next to him now, still with that smile clinging to the corner of his mouth, the almost cruel twist of his lips.
"Where are we going?" Gansey asked. No complaint, no reproach. Not even when Ronan stepped on the pedal again and let the BMW soar forward, far beyond anything as mundane as speed limits.
"I don't know," Ronan said, and he didn't. It didn't seem to matter, not while he was in his car with Gansey beside him. He thought about it for a moment. "We could go to the Barns."
He regretted saying it the moment the words left his lips, flinched at the sharp sting he felt in the hollow cavity of his chest. This night was for the present, not the fucking past, and here he was again thinking of all the things he'd lost. Of home home home. Going back there once had only made him ache for it more, had made him more furious at Declan for keeping him away. Ronan didn't look at Gansey, it was enough to hear his soft sigh. Even this Gansey, the one with fire in his eyes, wouldn't allow this.
We could go to Cabeswater, was Ronan's next thought. It would be like leading Gansey into his dreams, leading him to those trees that Ronan had dreamt of since he was a boy, and they'd keep up their chase under the moonlight. But Cabeswater was gone and they didn't have a clue how to find it again, and even Ronan wasn't cruel enough to remind Gansey of that tonight.
He didn't want to see that uncertainty on Gansey's face again, the sorrow, the brooding. For once the fire in Gansey's eyes wasn't for Glendower and Cabeswater, it wasn't for his quest, nor for Adam and Noah and Blue. Just like Ronan clung to the past, Gansey's mind was always on the future he craved, but tonight they were both living in the present. Ronan wasn't going to destroy that. This was his Gansey, the one who belonged to nobody but Ronan and himself. This was a Gansey the others didn't even get to know of.
"We don't have to go anywhere." Ronan shrugged. He suddenly wished that Gansey wasn't on the passenger seat, but next to him on the road, racing him in the Camaro. He wished Kavinsky would show up next to them, so Ronan could race him with Gansey egging him on, but the Mitsubishi was burnt to the ground and K was getting shitfaced at his party.
"Then let me drive." Gansey's eyes were glinting in the street-lamps, bright and wide. Ronan brought the BMW to a halt with another loud screech. Part of him felt like arguing, demanding that he get to drive the Pig next time if he let Gansey drive his BMW, but fuck that. There was nothing Ronan could deny Gansey on a night like this. They didn't get out of the car to change places, just climbed over each other with the easy familiarity of brothers. Gansey's body felt hotter than it had any right to as it brushed against Ronan's, and for a moment Ronan's world was reduced to nothing but the smell of sweat and the cologne they both used, but which always ended up smelling just the slightest bit different on Gansey's skin than on his own. And mixed with that still the smell of gasoline and cars and tyre rubber on asphalt, and it passed in a split second or Ronan would have pressed his face against Gansey's chest to breathe him in.
Gansey laughed when he stepped on the gas, a sound like shattering glass that was nothing like Ronan's own laughter, nothing like K's mad laughter at the party. Gansey didn't laugh like the world was a music video, he laughed like the world was a kingdom and his to rule. The joy in his eyes was boyish and carefree, the furthest thing from that too old look Ronan sometimes hated. For all that Gansey loved the Pig more than any other possession in the world, driving the BMW was a different kind of pleasure. It wasn't hard, it required no care or finesse, it was a wild animal that bucked and ran and gave you the ride of your damn life if you just knew how to let it.
Ronan closed his eyes, feeling the speed in his bones, the sharp wind slapping his face through the open windows, the bass vibrating in his chest. This, just this, was happiness, and it was even sweeter for being shared with Gansey for once. He wasn't sure for how long they drove, wasn't sure where the hell Gansey was headed, but when the car slowed and stopped and he opened his eyes they were at the edge of a small forest. For a moment he thought Cabeswater, but he realised that was but wishful thinking. Just a normal forest, dark trees barely illuminated by the dim moonlight, tall enough to hide the small path that led up to it from the main road.
Gansey glanced at him before he pulled himself out of the car, that same energetic motion as earlier at the party. He was quieter now, pondering maybe on what Kavinsky had said, wondering who else had broken into their place, but he was still brimming with too much raw energy to get lost in his thoughts. Ronan followed a bit more slowly, not taking his eyes off Gansey now.
The night was still scorching hot. Ronan had thought it had just been the fires at the fairground, but the summer heat hadn't let up one bit after sundown. He felt his tank top sticking to his back, and even Gansey looked sweaty. The light blue polo shirt clang to his chest, to the muscles on either side of his spine, and in the BMW's headlights his forehead shone with sweat, his hair darkened from it, curling against tanned skin. Ronan felt a knot in his throat, seeing Gansey this approachable again. It wasn't like seeing him tired and vulnerable in the middle of the night when neither of them could sleep. This Gansey was no less glorious for looking more human. This was the Gansey he had first brought home with him, the Gansey who had laughed in pure delight when he first saw the Barns, who had bantered with Niall Lynch five minutes after meeting him, who had charmed his way through what had almost been a shovel talk and all but got Ronan's father to adopt him on the spot. Ronan wondered if Adam had ever seen Gansey like this. The very idea made him want to smash something.
"Where the fuck are we?" Ronan asked while Gansey kicked a few dry leaves at his feet.
"Does it matter?" Gansey was looking at him now. There was something thoughtful in his eyes, but it wasn't his usual scholarly brooding. When Ronan didn't reply, Gansey continued, "Is that what all of Kavinsky's parties are like?"
What he meant was, Is that what you and Kavinsky get up to when I'm not there? Ronan thought of car chases under the cold light of street lamps, thought of K's biting laughter and sharper words, of the jut of his hipbones in the floodlights. He shrugged and leant back against the still warm hood of the BMW. He didn't want to talk about Kavinsky. He didn't want Gansey to turn back into whatever it was he'd thought he had to become after … After. The Gansey who thought he had to control Ronan for his own good.
"Is that what you want?" Gansey pressed on, and he stepped closer. His voice was tight, but not in that almost imperious way he used when he told Ronan what to do. Ronan couldn't put his finger on the difference, but it was there, glaringly obvious to someone for whom Gansey's voice was the only one worth listening to. "I know what your dog wants," Gansey echoed Kavinsky's words, and Ronan felt a shudder hearing them from Gansey's lips. His dog. He'd punched K for a shitton of things, but never for calling him that. The words filled him with a savage pride.
"You know what he wants, right?" Gansey continued when Ronan still said nothing.
"To fuck with me?" Ronan shrugged again. He didn't think he liked where this conversation was going. "He likes racing me. Guess he gets tired of his cronies and his hookers."
"That's not all he wants," Gansey said. The dark glint in his eyes was almost dangerous. Ronan loved it, and he feared it because he wasn't used to not knowing what was going on in Gansey's head. So he did the only thing he knew how to do and lashed out.
"Do you have to fucking ruin this, Gansey?" he growled. "I thought we were having fun tonight, and you're –"
He interrupted himself when Gansey closed the last bit of distance between them, stepped so close that Ronan could smell him again, feel his breath on his skin. If anyone else got that close to him, especially with that kind of look in their eyes, Ronan would have floored them already, but with Gansey all he did was tense up a little and jut out his chin in a challenge.
"This is not about him being trouble, this is about the way he looks at you." Gansey stopped, paled a fraction, as if he'd said more than he wanted to, but then he pushed on, "Like a dog salivating at a bone."
"I thought I was the dog," Ronan replied, his mouth running on automatic because his brain was going haywire. The things Gansey said, the things he implied – Ronan didn't even let himself imagine them except in the darkest hours of the night, in dreams of oil-stained hands and snarling lips and a filthy smirk pressed against his neck, dreams he only didn't repress even more because he was afraid of what, of whom he'd dream instead. Some secrets couldn't even be dreamt.
"My dog."
Gansey's voice was as smooth as polished stone, he'd never stoop so low as to growl, but his voice went through Ronan's entire body like the still blaring bass of the stereo, like those few words were enough to drive the thought of anyone else from Ronan's mind and make him Gansey's own again. Ronan would have been furious on any other night, furious that Gansey wanted to take the one thing from him that made him so mindlessly happy, but he didn't snap at him now. The air between them felt electric, from Gansey's body as much as from the summer heat, from that gleam in Gansey's eyes. Ronan wanted to ask what the fuck Gansey was saying, but his mouth felt dry and he couldn't tear his eyes away from the dip between Gansey's collarbones, the shine of sweat on the hollow of his throat, and there was nothing vulnerable in that, nothing soft. He didn't think there was anything soft about this Gansey.
And then his skin caught on fire when Gansey grabbed his chin, strong fingers slick with sweat, and Ronan's mind was still reeling when Gansey leant in and pressed his lips against Ronan's. Dry and hard and angry almost, the same insistent pressure as when Gansey grabbed his arm to hold him back from a fight, like there was no doubt in the world that Ronan would obey him.
Ronan couldn't move. He hadn't even dared to think about this, and then Gansey was gone before Ronan could react, a sudden step backwards, all that certainty crumbling into doubt, his eyes wide with wonder now as if kissing Ronan had torn him out of whatever state he'd worked himself into. He looked shocked at himself, like a man who'd killed in a fit of rage and suddenly found his hands covered in blood.
As far as Ronan was concerned, if he ever found Gansey covered in someone else's blood, he'd help him hide the body.
So he grabbed Gansey's wrist and yanked him close again, running more on instinct than anything else, just knowing that he didn't want to lose Gansey to his doubts again. He pulled him close with too much force until Gansey stumbled against him, and kissed him like a wolf ripping into its prey, teeth and hunger burrowing into Gansey's bottom lip. He kissed him, he realised, like he would have kissed Kavinsky if he didn't despise him so much.
If he'd felt alive before, he was burning now. The real world rarely compared to his dreams, the sensations always dimmed and muted unless the adrenaline of a car chase was pumping through his veins, but in that moment reality all but overwhelmed him, the heat of the BMW and the heat of Gansey's body, the taste of mint leaves and sharp vodka, the softness of Gansey's lips, unmoving for a moment underneath his before Gansey's tongue slipped between Ronan's lips. The sensation was unfamiliar, and yet it felt inevitable, like Gansey was merely claiming something that had been his all along, something that had been waiting for him without either of them being aware of it.
Gansey's hand went to Ronan's shoulder, the other to his throat before he thought better of it and grabbed his tank top instead, and he hoisted Ronan up onto the hood of the BMW in a gesture that mirrored Ronan's own that night, when he'd thrown Kavinsky over the hood of his Mitsubishi and punched his face bloody. Gansey had never learnt how to fight properly, but the crew training had left him with arms almost as strong as Ronan's, and without Ronan fighting back he could manhandle him easily.
Ronan wouldn't have fought back in a million years. In the sweltering summer heat the warm metal should have been unbearable under his back, burning against his skin where his tank top rode up, but Ronan loved his car, his father's car, almost as much as he loved Gansey, and somehow this felt more right than any bed could have. Gansey was hotter than the metal against Ronan's body, his mouth like a furnace on Ronan's as if he could burn every thought of Kavinsky out of him, and fuck if he couldn't, fuck if Ronan even remembered anything other than the slope of Gansey's back under his hand, the sharp jut of his hipbone where Ronan's fingers grabbed him tightly.
There was nothing comfortable about this, no purchase to be had with his feet just barely touching the ground anymore and Gansey writhing on top of him. It took some angry pulling to get Gansey's shirt off, and Gansey didn't even manage that, just pushed Ronan's tank over his head and left it there, tangled around his elbows. Ronan could have freed himself of it, but a thrill went through his body when Gansey pulled back enough to look at him, at Ronan's prone form stretched out over the hood, his arms all but tied above his head, his fingers scrambling in vain for any purchase on the windshield. Ronan was as tightly wound as before a fight, and Gansey curled his fingers around Ronan's hips like he was grabbing another molotov cocktail.
Ronan bared his throat, let himself be held down and burnt and devoured as Gansey's teeth raked over his neck, catching on his collarbones, sliding over the sweat of his chest and placing a sharp bite just above his nipple, and he didn't pull away until Ronan felt the bruise blooming on his skin. He swallowed a sound that only could have been a whimper, and fuck if this wasn't as intense as only his dreams ever were, but more real; no fucked up, creepy whispers in the trees, just the heavy summer heat and the rustle of clothes and Gansey's moans against his skin.
And then, "fuck, Ronan," hands catching on his belt before yanking down his jeans. There was something disturbingly helpless about his position, the tangled jeans around his knees constricting him even more than his tank top did, but for all that he wanted to touch Gansey, he didn't move, unsure if that wouldn't break the spell. He didn't think he could move when Gansey shifted again, fidgeting with his own clothes before he pressed back against Ronan, their skin sticking together, and there was no way Ronan could have stayed quiet when Gansey's cock brushed against his own. His body wasn't his own anymore, like a less terrifying version of that same paralysis he felt when he woke up from his dreams, less terrifying only because his body was Gansey's now, Gansey's to have whichever way he wanted him. Gansey's hand back on his hip as if he still had to pin Ronan down, the other moving up to his neck and curling around it, thumb above his pulse point. Ronan felt his blood thumping against Gansey's finger, thought he could feel Gansey's heartbeat mirroring his own in that same small spot.
Suddenly holding still wasn't an option anymore, so he awkwardly wrapped his arms around Gansey, his wrists still entangled in the fabric of his shirt, but it was enough to hold on to him, enough to keep Gansey from going anywhere. Gansey wasn't moving fast, just rocking against him best as he could, his weight pressing Ronan down against the warm metal. It was too much and it wasn't enough, it was like flooring the gas pedal and still wanting to go faster.
"Gansey, fuck, come on," Ronan groaned, hips bucking up, legs shifting as if there was any way he could get them around Gansey. "Just fucking –" It wasn't that he didn't know what he was asking for; he'd seen enough porn to know exactly what he meant, to know exactly what it was Gansey could be doing to him right now, with Ronan bent over the hood, but somehow Ronan had a hard time connecting the two, the impersonal images porn had put in his mind and the weight and smell of Gansey's body, like they were two completely different things, worlds apart.
But then he thought that maybe Gansey had no trouble making that connection because he pulled back just long enough to grab Ronan again. For a horrified moment Ronan feared he'd stop, that he'd realise what a fucking mistake he was making, but all Gansey did was try to flip him over, and once Ronan realised that was what he was doing, he turned obligingly, finally struggling out of his tank top while he did. The warm metal felt even better against Ronan's chest, the smell of his beloved car filling his nostrils while Gansey's hands slid over his back, tenderly now, as if he had to apologise for his roughness the moment before. His fingertips were retracing the tattoo, Ronan realised after a second, redrawing lines and hooks and thorns, and Ronan closed his eyes to visualise his tattoo, to understand which parts of it Gansey was touching – those intricate curls at the base of his spine that looked in the right light like a single blossom in an ocean of thorns, and up the tendrils that climbed all the way to his shoulder blades, fingers stopping only to be replaced by Gansey's lips, kissing Ronan's sweaty skin more softly than before.
That gentle touch whispered "mine" as loudly as Gansey's teeth had claimed him, and Ronan shuddered, bucked back against him. Gansey moved closer, his cock sliding against Ronan's ass, slick with sweat and precome, and Ronan wondered if Gansey would do what he thought he might do. It wasn't something he'd let himself fantasise about, not with Gansey, not with anyone, but he realised in that moment, like he'd realised a hundred times before in his life, that there was nothing he wouldn't give Gansey, and gladly.
"Are you gonna do it or are you gonna be a fucking tease about this?" He barely recognised his own voice, the words sounded crass even to his own ears, but he could feel Gansey smile against his back. Smile, and then bite him so hard that Ronan could feel the pain jolt through his entire back. A full body shudder and he noticed Gansey hesitating, so Ronan reached behind himself to dig his fingers into Gansey's hip and keep him close. "Don't you fucking dare stop."
The tension seeped out of Gansey's body again and he kissed the same spot he'd just bitten, whispered a soft "neither" into his skin. His cock slid against Ronan's ass again, and then Gansey let it slip between Ronan's sweat-slick thighs. It was – not what he expected, fuck, but but he could feel Gansey's cock nudge his balls, and feel more than hear Gansey's moans against his back. He pressed his thighs closer together and got a louder moan for his trouble, kept shifting underneath Gansey, and if that meant dragging his own cock over the warm metal of his car, he sure as hell wasn't going to complain. Gansey's hands were back where they had held him before, one on Ronan's hip, the other on his neck, this time pressing his face down against the car. It was dizzying, the heat and the closeness and the heavy air he could barely draw into his lungs, and those fucking sounds Gansey made against his back. Ronan wished he could see his face, could see Gansey lose it the way he could hear him, breathless gasps and moans, and Gansey was never that fucking vocal while jerking off (which Ronan only knew because they lived together and it was impossible not to walk in on Gansey jerking off every now and then, he certainly hadn't been planning for that to happen).
Ronan felt like he was floating and oddly grounded at the same time, like this was half a dream and half so fucking real it drove him mad, and his perception was so reduced to one single thing in the whole world that he had no clue how long this lasted until Gansey's teeth sunk into his shoulder again and Gansey came with a slow shudder. Gansey's hand followed, cooping up some of his own come so his fingers were as slick as Ronan's thighs when they awkwardly found their way underneath Ronan and wrapped around his cock, hesitating for half a second before their grip tightened. Rough strokes, rougher than Ronan would have expected from Gansey, the tip of Ronan's cock getting dragged over the hood on every one of them, and Ronan all but laughed when he came, laughed because he couldn't help but think about how he was going to have to get his car cleaned after this. Or maybe he should just leave it like this and let the rest of the world think whatever the fuck they wanted to think, whatever the fuck they were thinking of him already.
He was still dizzy when Gansey let go of him and pulled back, and by the time he'd gathered enough strength to straighten up, turn around, and lean back against the hood, Gansey had already tucked himself back in. Didn't make him look any less messed up, wiping his hands on a handkerchief, his hair almost soaked. He was smiling a lazy, content smile, the smile of summer afternoons spent dragging furniture into Monmouth Manufacturing, of playful punches against Ronan's shoulder until Ronan wrestled him down to the floor and they both laughed until they were wheezing, the smile of strolling through the corridors of Aglionby followed by whispers and their name drawn into one word, GanseyandRonan. That smile from before.
It softened a bit as he offered Ronan the already soppy handkerchief, but Ronan picked up Gansey's shirt from the ground instead and wiped himself clean with that, grinning about the disgusted look on Gansey's face.
"Was that really necessary?" Gansey asked, and he almost sounded again like … like Gansey sounded in the daylight, the Gansey that was for public consumption. Ronan gave him a filthy look and threw him the shirt before pulling up his jeans and closing them. Looking at Gansey now, his eyes slowly growing more serious, the corner of his mouth drawn up in distaste as he examined his shirt, Ronan began to realise the magnitude of what had just happened. Of what they'd done, of what they couldn't come back from. There was a reason he'd forced Gansey out of his fantasies, a reason he kept this part of himself locked up tight, a reason he kept repeating the word brother over and over in his head whenever his chest felt too tight with longing.
He could see the same thoughts, or similar ones, flashing over Gansey's face. Doubt and something that looked too much like regret for Ronan's taste. Like this was going to be one of those things Gansey felt sorry for afterwards because he hadn't really meant it that way. Like this night was a car crash and Ronan was something he'd slammed into by accident.
"What the fuck did you go and do that for?" Ronan snapped before Gansey could apologise or any of that bullshit; pushed himself away from the hood to reach into the car, rummaging until he found a half-empty bottle of whiskey from the last time he'd gone out racing at night. He didn't look at Gansey so he didn't have to see the hurt in his eyes.
"I'm sorry," Gansey said quietly, and Ronan's chest felt like someone had thrown him down to the floor and forced the air out of his lungs. He gulped down some of the whiskey, let it burn in his throat until he could breathe again before he turned to glare at Gansey.
"For what?" He'd have Gansey say it, say whatever the fuck Gansey thought he'd done wrong, or whatever he thought was wrong with Ronan. He wasn't sure what he expected, wasn't sure which wounds he was poking his fingers into, but what he hadn't expected was –
"I try not to play favourites and this was –"
"Don't fucking talk to me like you're a, a school teacher and we're your fucking students," Ronan snapped. Another gulp of whiskey, alcohol fuelling and stoking his anger. "The others have nothing to do with us. Fuck them."
Gansey looked almost more hurt by that than by Ronan's previous words, and Ronan could see the way Gansey drew himself together, hiding all those soft parts that he only ever showed him at night, hiding them under that façade he used for strangers. Ronan wondered what he'd have to do to smash it for good.
"You don't mean that," Gansey just said, his voice matter-of-fact, sickeningly so, like this was some childish argument Gansey was above. And because Ronan didn't lie, he didn't object. It wasn't like he didn't care about the others. He'd miss fooling around with Noah, he'd miss the nonsense he could talk Adam into or even just his quiet presence by his side when Ronan couldn't be alone, he'd even miss Blue glaring up at him from her diminutive height and lecturing him for something or other he wasn't supposed to say. But he wouldn't miss any of them half as much as he missed tonight's Gansey when he disappeared for months at a time, like he was afraid of liking this side of himself too much.
"They don't change anything about us," Ronan said instead. "You told me that, Gansey, when you started dragging Adam along with you wherever you went. You said he wasn't taking anything from me."
"What is that even supposed to mean, Ronan?" Gansey looked genuinely puzzled, tired like a burnt out car, and Ronan hated that more than when Gansey was mad at him. He glared down at the bottle and drank from it again, turned half away from him so he wouldn't have to see Gansey.
"You have them, and you have a fucking fit when I even go near K."
"Because he's trouble. Because he doesn't know you like I do."
Ronan suddenly had a sick thought that maybe Gansey didn't know him at all, just knew the Ronan he wanted back, the Ronan that was still whole, the Ronan he didn't have to worry about. The one he didn't have to put a leash on to keep him from burning himself or someone else. He wondered if he knew Gansey at all, or rather if he knew which of all those layers that Gansey showed to him and only to him was the one that truly mattered.
"Did you just do this to get here before he did?" Ronan's skin was still slick with sweat, his own and Gansey's, and he'd never imagined that Gansey's touch could make him feel so dirty.
For a few seconds Gansey didn't react at all, like he didn't even know what Ronan was talking about, and then Ronan could feel the air change behind him, tangible anger and disappointment even before Gansey moved. He stepped behind Ronan, both hands on his shoulders gripping him tight.
"You know me better than that," he only said, and Ronan's shoulders slumped. For all his doubts, he did know that Gansey would never do this, not to anyone, but most certainly not to him, not knowing Ronan like he did.
"Do you think I'm jealous of Kavinsky?" Gansey said, disbelief in his voice. "I know he can't have you. Ronan, I know you do a lot of stupid shit I don't approve of, but even you're not that stupid."
"I'd end up with every fucking STD civilisation has ever seen, and a few more he's imported from Russia," Ronan said, and his chest felt a bit lighter the moment the words left his lips. He felt Gansey laugh softly, and then Gansey's hands slid down Ronan's arms, retracing every nook and hollow until they curled around Ronan's wrists. Not painfully, but firmly enough that Ronan would have had trouble tearing himself away. He relaxed, shoulders slumped, arms loose, his head bowed. An inch of hot air was all that separated Gansey's chest from Ronan's back; soft lips ghosted over the base of Ronan's neck.
"Maybe he … forced my hand, but this didn't happen because of him. You think he matters enough to me for that?" Another kiss, and both thumbs pressed into the inside of Ronan's wrists. He could feel his pulse slow down under Gansey's touch, because Gansey did know him, he always knew what Ronan needed. "I told you, we're nothing like him. We matter, you and I."
Ronan didn't have trouble believing that about Gansey, Gansey with his family and all his friends, Gansey who was loved by every fucking person he ever met. "To whom?"
"To each other," Gansey just said, like that was the only thing that counted. Because for all that Gansey could have the whole damn world, he had chosen to be here, with Ronan. "Nobody gives a shit about Kavinsky."
That brought another smile to Ronan's lips. He wouldn't exchange this for anything, not even for the gasoline- and alcohol-fuelled madness of Kavinsky's world. Not while Gansey was here.
"Can you stay away from him?" Gansey asked after a minute, his voice no less intense for being so quiet. The world would be a much easier place if Gansey just stayed by his side.
Ronan never lied, so he didn't answer the question, just made a face and said, "I hate it when you sound like my brother."
But he still didn't move away, didn't try to free his hands from Gansey's grip. Gansey smiled against his neck, his lips still retracing the upmost twists and turns of the tattoo.
"If I sounded like Declan, I'd tell you to stay the fuck away from him or else," and there was a lightness in his voice that reassured Ronan even though the thought of his brother made him brim with anger. "Just don't let him have this."
"Never." Ronan meant that, meant it with absolute certainty, because for all that meeting K on the streets made his blood race like few other things ever did, the thought of touching him made his skin crawl, and not only because he couldn't help now but compare it to the touch of Gansey's fingers, his smell and his taste and the feather-light kisses on his neck.
"Good boy." Teasing with just a hint of steel underneath; this was the Gansey who kept an eye on Ronan and took care of him, and for all that Ronan loved him for that, he already started missing the wildness in Gansey's voice, especially once it dropped lower still, quiet and sad almost. "I still have to go to D.C. tomorrow."
"I know," Ronan just said, because what else was there to say? He still felt sick at the thought of letting Gansey run off to that other part of his life, not just his family when Ronan didn't have a family left, but that sickening pull of the real world, of dinner parties and suits and ties that Ronan couldn't help but worry about losing Gansey to. Sometimes Ronan couldn't suppress that irrational fear that there might come a day, maybe only after they'd found Glendower, when Gansey would want that same normal life that Adam dreamt of, that Declan dreamt of, when he'd happily accept that noose around the neck that Ronan couldn't wait to escape. He couldn't say any of those things, couldn't say them now anymore than when they'd left the party.
"It's not for long," Gansey said apologetically, and at least for now Ronan could be sure that he wouldn't lose Gansey, that there was no place in the world where Gansey would rather be than right here with him.
"I know," Ronan said again. "I'll be here when you get back."
It was as much of a promise as he could make. Because Ronan might run off for a night, might get drunk out of his mind and race until his grief was pumped out of his veins, might smash his fists into faces Gansey wouldn't even deign to look at, but in the morning he'd still come home – not to the home that Declan had taken from him, but to the only home he had left now, by Gansey's side. It was the promise that he'd still be there even after Adam and Blue had taken off to college some day in the future, because even though nobody ever spoke of it, they all knew that neither of those two would be happy with a life as Gansey's sidekick. But Ronan … as long as Gansey still wanted him, Ronan was his.
Gansey thanked him with another kiss to his neck, nuzzling it gently, still holding Ronan in place with a steady grip. Minutes passed like that before Gansey let go of his wrists and wrapped his arms around Ronan instead, stepped closer until he was pressed flush against him, his cheek between Ronan's shoulder blades. Ronan tried to remember the last time Gansey had hugged him. The last time anyone had hugged him. Nights came to his mind in the weeks after his father's death, when he'd woken up in sweat and tears, or when he hadn't slept in days and was shaking from exhaustion, and Gansey would be there, quiet and calm, knowing just when to wrap an arm around Ronan's wrecked body and hold him. It hadn't helped, not if helping meant making him feel better, because nothing in the world could have dulled the pain in his heart, but he had felt like he was going insane in those nights, and Gansey had been his anchor. Ronan wondered when they'd stopped doing this, if he'd seemed like he was getting better, or if he'd just rejected the offered comfort once too often.
Now he only leant back against Gansey and breathed in the summer heat, letting minutes pass while the world returned to normal, to something manageable, to something he could live in. His heartbeat had slowed by the time Gansey stepped back. Ronan turned in time to catch a slightly embarrassed grin flitting over Gansey's face.
"Let's go home?" Gansey asked. There was something beautifully boyish in that smile, or maybe it was the fact that he still was shirtless that made him look younger. Ronan grinned a little at the thought, picked up his tank top from the forest ground and put it back on before he slid into the driver's seat, left Gansey to mutter a little about his ruined shirt before he followed.
It wasn't until later that night, after Ronan had showered, glanced at Gansey already passed out in his bed, and fallen into his own bed to get some rest before the helicopter would wake him in the morning, that he realised something. Gansey hadn't actually told him why he'd done this, if it'd been nothing but adrenaline and exuberance and whimsy. He hadn't told him if this would ever happen again, or if it would be as rare as those precious glimpses at the Gansey he loved best, the Gansey who was wild and dangerous and greedy for the world.
For a moment Ronan considered waking Gansey and asking him, but the thought of Gansey leaving in the morning was heavy on his mind, and he didn't think he could bear the answer.
