[Something feels too wrong to say he's homesick and he doesn't feel right out of his bed, but somehow even with the need to be honest about all of this, Adam can't find it in himself to admit such a thing to Gansey. He wouldn't understand, would probably even yell some more about how horrible Adam's life had been in that house, that he was safer here.
That he was safer here.
Does he feel safe with Gansey? It isn't about the danger that comes with the search for Glendower. It's never been about that, Adam doesn't mind. How safe is he? Who he is, what he means. How much longer can Adam stay Adam while being with Gansey? Perhaps that's what he's really afraid of. How long before he loses himself completely? Falling into the pit of everything Richard Campbell Gansey the Third is.
Adam swallows out of that, physically and mentally, his own elongated silence reflecting a clear wander of his thoughts.]
No. [He doesn't look at Gansey when he says it, and he wonders when was the last time he did. He hadn't since they brought his stuff into Monmouth, and he hadn't at any point they'd been in the car together. But even without looking at him, he sees him anyway. His wide eyes, his straight nose, it's all in Adam's mind.
Interlocking his fingers, his thumbs rub together in a pensive motion.]
I meant everything I said. [He refers to the exchanged angry words in the car, but he knows Gansey would know that.] But I didn't mean it like you think it means.
[ Gansey, on the other hand, keeps his eyes on Adam. As best as he can, anyway, what with the dark, but he doesn't avert his gaze from the other boy. Not once. Unlike Adam, he's had his eyes on him the entire time they began to move things over to the Warehouse. He'd steal occasional glances in Adam's direction while they were in the Pig. He watched Adam drag milk-crates of his belongings into Noah's room. He didn't do it to try and meet Adam's eyes, but to - observe him. Watch him. Understand him. ]
Then - how? How did you mean it?
[ Even now, Gansey doesn't say it like an accusation or an argument. He wants to know. Again, he wants to understand. He wants to see the world through Adam's eyes so that, maybe, they could stop fighting. ]
[Adam doesn't think Gansey will ever understand him. Not when Gansey is a million miles away from him in every direction. And maybe he once thought it was possible. Once or twice. Like when Gansey first looked into his eyes and asked him to teach him how to fix his car. Or when he peeled down his layers to the honest boy who desired his search for Glendower, the kind of boy that would says his name like Adam with a softness as if the way he phrased it was his version of wrapping his arms around him with a non-physical warmth.
Those were the times that Adam felt closest to Gansey, and thought maybe it would reach both ways. Maybe there was a chance to be on the same level after all. Somehow that hope felt like it'd flown to and landed on the moon by now.
He peers down at his own bare feet tapping at the floor, his sight unfocused.]
I told you I don't want to belong to you. And I don't. Not like that, not like you're hiring me for some sort of service. Like everything between us is an obligation. I ... I hate that shit, Gansey. I really do.
[The swear makes him swallow, and he almost swallows his own words with it.] That's not the way I want to be yours.
Gansey can feel the words echoing in his ears, ringing all the way down to his toes and filling him with something a little like hope and a little like longing, mingled together. He holds his breath without realizing he's doing it, and then he presses his mouth together into a thin line.
He doesn't know what to say. He could argue with Adam until he's blue in the face that that's never been the way he's ever meant to be a part of Adam's life. He'd never done any of those things because he feels like doing so will make Adam become his in a way that the Pig is his, or this warehouse is his. He did them because -
Because somewhere in his heart, he loves him. And it hurts him to see Adam suffer when there's a way Gansey can help. It's a way he thinks he can help, limited in so many other ways as he is.
Gansey lets his lips come loose, a breath issuing out like a low sigh. It comes out a little shaky, almost afraid. ]
Then - [ he starts, voice almost a whisper. ] - how?
[Somehow he'd known that Gansey would ask for clarification. That's just how Gansey was, always needing a direct answer, always wanting to know the how. How does a car run? How does magic really work in the world? How does Adam Parrish really feel about Richard Gansey?
And maybe what he hates the most is that he doesn't have Gansey's talent for speech, at least not when it counted. Even worse when he didn't even have the real answer in his own head. Just earlier that day, he'd been furious with Gansey, shutting the door of the Camaro fiercely with rage, the exact tone of fuck you still a clear echo in his solitary functioning ear. So how could Adam possibly know anything in regards to how he sees Gansey in this moment? How could Adam explain that in clear words when all he wanted to do to Gansey was just scream at him or punch him or ... or ....
His blue eyes burn with a new found fire, out of a simmering anger again, perhaps, or maybe it's the sequence of events that have him in a consistent encouragement to just act instead of thinking as he's always let himself do. This time, no more observing. Put yourself in there. The advice he's offered to himself these days. So maybe that's why he shifts where he sits, turning to lift his knee upon the bed, leaning up over it so he can curve his hand at the back of Gansey's neck and drag him in.
It's not as rough as it's estimated to be when Adam moves in with such ferocity. In fact, the kiss is quite gentle even as Adam's lips press firmly and frozen against Gansey's. He hardly moves because he forgets himself in those brief seconds, feeling nothing but.
Gansey.
Breathing hard through his nose, he parts barely, enough to sigh from his mouth again. Lips still grazing, like a magnet that can't be tugged away, Adam barely even whispers.] Damn it.
[ Gansey's startled for a moment, wanting this so bad but not expecting it, that he tenses against Adam's mouth until his brain catches up with the act and he can (and does) visibly relax.
Adam's wrong, though. Gansey's not as good with words - certainly not when it counted. A lot of the time his words come out wrong or irrevocably condescending, like he means one thing and it comes out differently. Soft intentions sharpening into blades that could - and do - hurt. His words are unerring weapons, he'd said to Blue once. And much of the time he has no idea how to disarm them. It's why he's so quiet tonight. It's why he'd left Adam to his devices after they'd managed to pack up Adam's things and moved them into Monmouth.
It's why Gansey doesn't say anything now when Adam curses against his mouth. He just tilts his head back upwards, leans in, and kisses Adam this time. It isn't gentle; it isn't chaste. His mouth crushes into the other boy's with a vigor he hopes will express how he feels without having to say it aloud.
Gansey doesn't want to hurt him. He certainly doesn't want to own him.
Doesn't Adam know that he already owns Gansey in the ways it counts? ]
[Adam's never wanted to be owned by Gansey but he's always had a solid grip on him with this.
He blames it on everything that's been built up to now, the frustrations from the blows to his face, the destruction of his hearing, the screaming hurtful words outside the hospital. It makes him reckless, unable to think as properly as he'd like to. That's why he kisses Gansey. That's why he responds with such a fervor to Gansey's returning kiss, lips parting and tasting him, really tasting him, the mint that slips past his teeth and shooting a chill right along his spine.
Slim fingers curl within clean hair, tugging it in a way that maybe just maybe Adam wants to ruin him a bit. To turn this perfect boy into something that clambers under the pressure of his own lips.
Adam lifts himself a bit further onto the bed, body working its way up against Gansey's, nudging him down onto his back. It gives him a slight taste of control, making his own choices again, fighting for what he wants.
And with his knees sliding between the other boy's legs as he presses down his own weight, right now, Adam Parrish wants Richard Gansey.]
[ Gansey makes a sound against Adam's mouth, something between a moan and a whimper, lips parting to let Adam taste him, to breathe this all in. There's very little hesitation in the way he follows Adam's non-verbal directions, a nudge here, a tug there, and eventually he finds himself lying down again amongst the crumpled bedsheets. Adam's weight, lithe and lean and strong, hovers over him.
He swallows.
Ronan could open the door to his room right now, or Noah could suddenly appear through the walls of any part of this Warehouse, and they would see Gansey and Adam in the middle of the room, on his bed, in such a compromising position.
Gansey doesn't care. His everything aches for Adam right now. One kiss from the other boy and suddenly he's starved for it, starved for more. He yearns for it. For him.
His hands sweep along Adam's sides but he's giving the other boy control. Right now, in such a way, Gansey wants to be controlled.
[It occurs to him as well that there's nothing private about this. Gansey's choice of location for his bed puts them at a spotlight, the current main attraction of Monmouth where everything else is still save for the movement of shuffling bodies atop an old creaking metal frame. The voyeurous glow of the moon through the tall windows doesn't do well to hide them, but Adam's cares simmer low like Gansey's.
Because Adam has nothing, is meant for nothing, and yet right now he means something. Typically empty hands now have the soft sheets clutched between his fingers where they rest along both sides of Gansey's head, holding himself up. And his lips, the ones Blue denied just earlier that day, find a purpose in responding to every plea of a mint-flavored pair, yearning to create a need for themselves and making one out of nothing. His tongue, too, strokes the underline of perfect teeth, like it's finding new places of Gansey that Adam's never had the chance to observe this carefully. He tastes sweeter than his imagination.
Old worn sweatpants are thinner than they were when Adam got them for a buck at a garage clothing sale. As they shuffle against the body below, Adam feels all the more from it, the pleasant warmth of another being against him, a solid presence that he's lacked for years. Is this for comfort? Is it for proving a point?
Adam doesn't know anything other than the fueling surge of want that vibrates under his skin. Gansey Gansey Gansey, that's all that ventures through his mind as he swallows those tasteful moans. Sweatpants unintentionally (or intentionally, he can't tell anymore, his body just moves) rub down against Gansey below and prompts a unique, new low groan from Adam's own mouth.]
[ Adam's groan echoes over Gansey's skin, makes his brain buzz happily, dulling any remaining thoughts and fears and anxieties. It doesn't matter that he's literally never done any of this before; it doesn't matter that they're at risk to exposure from the rest of their friends at any given moment. Gansey finds himself so lost in the warmth of Adam, the touch of skin and lips and fingers trailing, and the heaviness of Adam's weight over him.
Clothing is starting to feel like a burden. Gansey's hands find the hem of Adam's worn out t-shirt, lifting it to run fingers tentatively up the length of his torso, roaming towards his back, pulling him down against him while their mouths meet again and again. His breathing becomes erratic with his wants, and everything else pulses like a song, calling for the other boy. ]
Adam.
[ He breathes the other boy's name out into an exhale against his skin like a mantra before his lips find skin again - his mouth, his jaw, his nose, his neck. It's strangely gentle, almost romantic. ]
[All that time spent trying to erect walls and distance himself from Gansey's way of living, only to fall into the literal and symbolic place of it. He curses at himself in his head for finding himself here but then Gansey whispers his name. It's hardly even that, barely meant to be a word, but more like the natural sound of his breath, like that was all it was ever meant to sound like.
Suddenly his previous homesickness dissipates because Adam feels like he is home. Perhaps not physically, but the pulsing beat of his heart makes the claim in other ways. All from the whisper of a single name.
Don't say it like that. Don't tear me apart.
But he does. Hopelessly, with a wet gasp and clamped eye lids as Gansey kisses him from place to place, like this is the only time Adam can (wants to) offer himself.
Fingers over his torso become matchsticks, lighting the fire over his skin, the heat sinking through to his insides where he burns. It prompts the rougher shifts of his hips, no longer hesitant as it sinks hard between Gansey's legs. Let me feel you, he doesn't whisper but he sends the message nonetheless. Because Adam grows, harder and needier, and there's all too much certainty that Gansey will be able to feel it, calling out through layers of fabric.]
Gansey can feel Adam hardening against him, his need echoing his own. Gansey's mouth presses up against the skin of Adam's neck, right by his appropriately-named Adam's apple, leaving a slightly wet mark there, while his hands find another direction to explore, fumbling with the worn elastic of Adam's sweatpants.
Gansey shifts against Adam before one hand slides past the fabric, greeted by heat and Adam's desire, now a hard and tangible thing in his grip. ]
Tell me what you want me to do.
[ He whispers into Adam's ear, his words almost a plea.
What does Adam want, and how can Gansey give it to him? ]
It had been usually on the nights he'd come home from work in the late hours that he'd touch himself. He was always exhausted, desperately eager for sleep before needing to wake early for school the next month, but on rare nights that something ignited in him, he'd go in for a late shower, dampening himself before shutting the water off as to not raise the bill too high. Hands slick from the soap, he'd think of Blue. An impossibility almost that they'd ever get to such a point when she wouldn't even kiss him, but he liked her, so it was nice to think of her.
Except whenever he'd get closer and closer, blood rushing fast through him as his thoughts become beyond his control, it'd stop being Blue's soft hands he pictured stroking his length. Somehow, she'd turn into Gansey, slim and perfect and nude before him, helping him get there.
That was Adam's little secret. He couldn't come without the visual of Richard Gansey's face fluttering from his imagination.
Except it's far from an illusion now, hardly a dream. It's a hot palm and bright eyes peering up at him in the darkness. This is real. Gansey is touching him.
Adam wants control but he loses it, losing grasp of the whimper that escapes him. He tenses, unsure of whether to hold himself still or to buck. He wants it so much, to feel hands on him, to be touched, to be attended to in this way, but he's so afraid to show it. So afraid to give himself up like this, to Gansey of all people. Mostly because there isn't anyone he'd want to give it up to most. Not even Blue.]
Touch me. [He whispers with a breathy tone against Gansey's cheek.] Touch me as you. As no one else, just you.
[He means the real Gansey. Not the many facades and masks that the boy likes to put on depending on the company or the situation. The boy beneath all of that, the raw, naked Gansey.]
Show me. [Show me that I can mean something to someone. To you..]
[ The Adam now is such a different Adam from just hours ago, so full of anger and resentment and guilt, leaving Gansey feeling like he'd really fucked things up in a way that he might never be able to repair. It'd hurt like something burrowing itself into his chest and opening a hole from the inside, growing bigger with each horrible thing he and Adam said to each other.
Now, in the quiet of the middle of the night, cloaked in darkness and the slightest sliver of the moon outside of Monmouth's gigantic windows punched into the brickwork, they whisper promises to each other, laced with the taste of salt and skin.
Gansey captures Adam's mouth against his again while he strokes a thumb over the other boy's hardened length.
I'm here, he says. I'm here. It's me. Gansey. Just Gansey.
He kisses him fervently, pouring his whole heart into it - the fears, the anxieties, the excitement, the fascination with magic and old kings, with books, with all of the silly jokes they share, with hidden meanings behind seemingly casual fistbumps, with love.
Know me, he thinks. This is me.
He pulls his hand out from beneath the fabric, shifting in order to pull them both back up. Gansey crouches over the crumpled bed sheets on his knees, hands going back to the elastic of Adam's pants. He wants them off. ]
[And then Adam stops thinking. He can't, even if he wanted. Even if he wanted to let the gears shift and turn, calculating the rights and wrongs of his own actions, of how he needed to consider his next steps as to not fall into a hole he won't be able to get out of.
But in truth, he's already fallen. And it's down on this bed with Gansey with the boy keeps him occupied with a kiss, gentle and sweet but passionate all the same. Because it's done with the accompaniment of moving fingers, warm and inviting over several inches of yes, Gansey, please, Gansey. He tells his hips to stay put but they want to move. Gansey's fingers tightening him is what he craves, what he hungers for when he forgets every trace of anger and hate accumulated from the day. Please, Gansey.
He gasps when he receives the opposite. Fingers are pulled away and Adam swallows hard, trying to catch on to what plans are in motion when Gansey pushes him up and backwards.
Let me show you.
Toes curl against the blankets during the beat of silence once he hears that request. Heart beats a little faster and fabric scrapes over his hips as tugs down at the stretchy hem, pulled with his underwear until it slides down to his thighs and he's all bare and exposed for Gansey to see. There's nothing to hide now. Not the fragile boy he is, sensitive to touch after years of no physical senses of affection. Certainly not the lustful signs that Adam reacts so fast and easily to everything Gansey does to him. And not that quiet part of his soul that wants to be attended to, that wants to see that potential of being cared for like Gansey might just provide.]
[ For one brief moment, Gansey simply stays where he is, slightly in awe of Adam, partially in disbelief that this is really happening. He sees Adam, exposed and vulnerable and very ready, and Gansey's mouth goes a little dry. He's so beautiful, there's a slight ache in his chest somewhere. But he's here and he wants Gansey as much as Gansey wants him.
Slowly and with some care, Gansey crawls forward until he can reach out and touch him. He drags his fingers down the length of the other boy's torso, leaning in so his mouth can follow after, leaving a trail of kisses until he reaches the length of Adam, hard and throbbing. He's never done anything like this before but that kind of inexperience has never stopped him before.
He presses his lips against the crown, tongue flicking across while his fingers wrap gently around Adam's length. ]
Adam swallows hard, the self-named apple at his neck shifting as his throat dries. His fingers claw beneath his own shirt, tugging it up low at his chest, just enough to let Gansey touch, to watch Gansey. The boy in front of him moves so unpredictably because just this morning, they were friends. Just this afternoon, they were estranged. Now they're ... something. Lovers seems to be too strong a word, especially when there's no way to tell what could happen after tonight. But he can't think of that now. The future doesn't matter when all he can see is Gansey, sweet Gansey.
A kiss presses against the tip of him and his heart warms. He expects to despise it, the way Gansey is so fragile and gentle with him like he just might break, like he's just another one of his belongings to protect. But that's not it, and Adam knows it.
He is fragile. And he wants nothing more than to envelop himself in this boy's hands, lips, everything.]
Gansey, ah ... [He moans, a hand reaching out to pet the top of Gansey's hair, the soft locks slipping easily through his fingers. There's a twitch against the other boy's mouth, a need in the stiffness that wets lips with small beads of precome. Adam can't remember how to breathe, but he doesn't think he'll need to anytime soon.]
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no subject
That he was safer here.
Does he feel safe with Gansey? It isn't about the danger that comes with the search for Glendower. It's never been about that, Adam doesn't mind. How safe is he? Who he is, what he means. How much longer can Adam stay Adam while being with Gansey? Perhaps that's what he's really afraid of. How long before he loses himself completely? Falling into the pit of everything Richard Campbell Gansey the Third is.
Adam swallows out of that, physically and mentally, his own elongated silence reflecting a clear wander of his thoughts.]
No. [He doesn't look at Gansey when he says it, and he wonders when was the last time he did. He hadn't since they brought his stuff into Monmouth, and he hadn't at any point they'd been in the car together. But even without looking at him, he sees him anyway. His wide eyes, his straight nose, it's all in Adam's mind.
Interlocking his fingers, his thumbs rub together in a pensive motion.]
I meant everything I said. [He refers to the exchanged angry words in the car, but he knows Gansey would know that.] But I didn't mean it like you think it means.
no subject
[ Gansey, on the other hand, keeps his eyes on Adam. As best as he can, anyway, what with the dark, but he doesn't avert his gaze from the other boy. Not once. Unlike Adam, he's had his eyes on him the entire time they began to move things over to the Warehouse. He'd steal occasional glances in Adam's direction while they were in the Pig. He watched Adam drag milk-crates of his belongings into Noah's room. He didn't do it to try and meet Adam's eyes, but to - observe him. Watch him. Understand him. ]
Then - how? How did you mean it?
[ Even now, Gansey doesn't say it like an accusation or an argument. He wants to know. Again, he wants to understand. He wants to see the world through Adam's eyes so that, maybe, they could stop fighting. ]
no subject
Those were the times that Adam felt closest to Gansey, and thought maybe it would reach both ways. Maybe there was a chance to be on the same level after all. Somehow that hope felt like it'd flown to and landed on the moon by now.
He peers down at his own bare feet tapping at the floor, his sight unfocused.]
I told you I don't want to belong to you. And I don't. Not like that, not like you're hiring me for some sort of service. Like everything between us is an obligation. I ... I hate that shit, Gansey. I really do.
[The swear makes him swallow, and he almost swallows his own words with it.] That's not the way I want to be yours.
no subject
Gansey can feel the words echoing in his ears, ringing all the way down to his toes and filling him with something a little like hope and a little like longing, mingled together. He holds his breath without realizing he's doing it, and then he presses his mouth together into a thin line.
He doesn't know what to say. He could argue with Adam until he's blue in the face that that's never been the way he's ever meant to be a part of Adam's life. He'd never done any of those things because he feels like doing so will make Adam become his in a way that the Pig is his, or this warehouse is his. He did them because -
Because somewhere in his heart, he loves him. And it hurts him to see Adam suffer when there's a way Gansey can help. It's a way he thinks he can help, limited in so many other ways as he is.
Gansey lets his lips come loose, a breath issuing out like a low sigh. It comes out a little shaky, almost afraid. ]
Then - [ he starts, voice almost a whisper. ] - how?
no subject
And maybe what he hates the most is that he doesn't have Gansey's talent for speech, at least not when it counted. Even worse when he didn't even have the real answer in his own head. Just earlier that day, he'd been furious with Gansey, shutting the door of the Camaro fiercely with rage, the exact tone of fuck you still a clear echo in his solitary functioning ear. So how could Adam possibly know anything in regards to how he sees Gansey in this moment? How could Adam explain that in clear words when all he wanted to do to Gansey was just scream at him or punch him or ... or ....
His blue eyes burn with a new found fire, out of a simmering anger again, perhaps, or maybe it's the sequence of events that have him in a consistent encouragement to just act instead of thinking as he's always let himself do. This time, no more observing. Put yourself in there. The advice he's offered to himself these days. So maybe that's why he shifts where he sits, turning to lift his knee upon the bed, leaning up over it so he can curve his hand at the back of Gansey's neck and drag him in.
It's not as rough as it's estimated to be when Adam moves in with such ferocity. In fact, the kiss is quite gentle even as Adam's lips press firmly and frozen against Gansey's. He hardly moves because he forgets himself in those brief seconds, feeling nothing but.
Gansey.
Breathing hard through his nose, he parts barely, enough to sigh from his mouth again. Lips still grazing, like a magnet that can't be tugged away, Adam barely even whispers.] Damn it.
no subject
Adam's wrong, though. Gansey's not as good with words - certainly not when it counted. A lot of the time his words come out wrong or irrevocably condescending, like he means one thing and it comes out differently. Soft intentions sharpening into blades that could - and do - hurt. His words are unerring weapons, he'd said to Blue once. And much of the time he has no idea how to disarm them. It's why he's so quiet tonight. It's why he'd left Adam to his devices after they'd managed to pack up Adam's things and moved them into Monmouth.
It's why Gansey doesn't say anything now when Adam curses against his mouth. He just tilts his head back upwards, leans in, and kisses Adam this time. It isn't gentle; it isn't chaste. His mouth crushes into the other boy's with a vigor he hopes will express how he feels without having to say it aloud.
Gansey doesn't want to hurt him. He certainly doesn't want to own him.
Doesn't Adam know that he already owns Gansey in the ways it counts? ]
no subject
He blames it on everything that's been built up to now, the frustrations from the blows to his face, the destruction of his hearing, the screaming hurtful words outside the hospital. It makes him reckless, unable to think as properly as he'd like to. That's why he kisses Gansey. That's why he responds with such a fervor to Gansey's returning kiss, lips parting and tasting him, really tasting him, the mint that slips past his teeth and shooting a chill right along his spine.
Slim fingers curl within clean hair, tugging it in a way that maybe just maybe Adam wants to ruin him a bit. To turn this perfect boy into something that clambers under the pressure of his own lips.
Adam lifts himself a bit further onto the bed, body working its way up against Gansey's, nudging him down onto his back. It gives him a slight taste of control, making his own choices again, fighting for what he wants.
And with his knees sliding between the other boy's legs as he presses down his own weight, right now, Adam Parrish wants Richard Gansey.]
no subject
He swallows.
Ronan could open the door to his room right now, or Noah could suddenly appear through the walls of any part of this Warehouse, and they would see Gansey and Adam in the middle of the room, on his bed, in such a compromising position.
Gansey doesn't care. His everything aches for Adam right now. One kiss from the other boy and suddenly he's starved for it, starved for more. He yearns for it. For him.
His hands sweep along Adam's sides but he's giving the other boy control. Right now, in such a way, Gansey wants to be controlled.
He wants Adam so much, it's an ache. ]
no subject
Because Adam has nothing, is meant for nothing, and yet right now he means something. Typically empty hands now have the soft sheets clutched between his fingers where they rest along both sides of Gansey's head, holding himself up. And his lips, the ones Blue denied just earlier that day, find a purpose in responding to every plea of a mint-flavored pair, yearning to create a need for themselves and making one out of nothing. His tongue, too, strokes the underline of perfect teeth, like it's finding new places of Gansey that Adam's never had the chance to observe this carefully. He tastes sweeter than his imagination.
Old worn sweatpants are thinner than they were when Adam got them for a buck at a garage clothing sale. As they shuffle against the body below, Adam feels all the more from it, the pleasant warmth of another being against him, a solid presence that he's lacked for years. Is this for comfort? Is it for proving a point?
Adam doesn't know anything other than the fueling surge of want that vibrates under his skin. Gansey Gansey Gansey, that's all that ventures through his mind as he swallows those tasteful moans. Sweatpants unintentionally (or intentionally, he can't tell anymore, his body just moves) rub down against Gansey below and prompts a unique, new low groan from Adam's own mouth.]
no subject
Clothing is starting to feel like a burden. Gansey's hands find the hem of Adam's worn out t-shirt, lifting it to run fingers tentatively up the length of his torso, roaming towards his back, pulling him down against him while their mouths meet again and again. His breathing becomes erratic with his wants, and everything else pulses like a song, calling for the other boy. ]
Adam.
[ He breathes the other boy's name out into an exhale against his skin like a mantra before his lips find skin again - his mouth, his jaw, his nose, his neck. It's strangely gentle, almost romantic. ]
Adam.
no subject
Suddenly his previous homesickness dissipates because Adam feels like he is home. Perhaps not physically, but the pulsing beat of his heart makes the claim in other ways. All from the whisper of a single name.
Don't say it like that. Don't tear me apart.
But he does. Hopelessly, with a wet gasp and clamped eye lids as Gansey kisses him from place to place, like this is the only time Adam can (wants to) offer himself.
Fingers over his torso become matchsticks, lighting the fire over his skin, the heat sinking through to his insides where he burns. It prompts the rougher shifts of his hips, no longer hesitant as it sinks hard between Gansey's legs. Let me feel you, he doesn't whisper but he sends the message nonetheless. Because Adam grows, harder and needier, and there's all too much certainty that Gansey will be able to feel it, calling out through layers of fabric.]
no subject
Gansey can feel Adam hardening against him, his need echoing his own. Gansey's mouth presses up against the skin of Adam's neck, right by his appropriately-named Adam's apple, leaving a slightly wet mark there, while his hands find another direction to explore, fumbling with the worn elastic of Adam's sweatpants.
Gansey shifts against Adam before one hand slides past the fabric, greeted by heat and Adam's desire, now a hard and tangible thing in his grip. ]
Tell me what you want me to do.
[ He whispers into Adam's ear, his words almost a plea.
What does Adam want, and how can Gansey give it to him? ]
no subject
It had been usually on the nights he'd come home from work in the late hours that he'd touch himself. He was always exhausted, desperately eager for sleep before needing to wake early for school the next month, but on rare nights that something ignited in him, he'd go in for a late shower, dampening himself before shutting the water off as to not raise the bill too high. Hands slick from the soap, he'd think of Blue. An impossibility almost that they'd ever get to such a point when she wouldn't even kiss him, but he liked her, so it was nice to think of her.
Except whenever he'd get closer and closer, blood rushing fast through him as his thoughts become beyond his control, it'd stop being Blue's soft hands he pictured stroking his length. Somehow, she'd turn into Gansey, slim and perfect and nude before him, helping him get there.
That was Adam's little secret. He couldn't come without the visual of Richard Gansey's face fluttering from his imagination.
Except it's far from an illusion now, hardly a dream. It's a hot palm and bright eyes peering up at him in the darkness. This is real. Gansey is touching him.
Adam wants control but he loses it, losing grasp of the whimper that escapes him. He tenses, unsure of whether to hold himself still or to buck. He wants it so much, to feel hands on him, to be touched, to be attended to in this way, but he's so afraid to show it. So afraid to give himself up like this, to Gansey of all people. Mostly because there isn't anyone he'd want to give it up to most. Not even Blue.]
Touch me. [He whispers with a breathy tone against Gansey's cheek.] Touch me as you. As no one else, just you.
[He means the real Gansey. Not the many facades and masks that the boy likes to put on depending on the company or the situation. The boy beneath all of that, the raw, naked Gansey.]
Show me. [Show me that I can mean something to someone. To you..]
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Now, in the quiet of the middle of the night, cloaked in darkness and the slightest sliver of the moon outside of Monmouth's gigantic windows punched into the brickwork, they whisper promises to each other, laced with the taste of salt and skin.
Gansey captures Adam's mouth against his again while he strokes a thumb over the other boy's hardened length.
I'm here, he says. I'm here. It's me. Gansey. Just Gansey.
He kisses him fervently, pouring his whole heart into it - the fears, the anxieties, the excitement, the fascination with magic and old kings, with books, with all of the silly jokes they share, with hidden meanings behind seemingly casual fistbumps, with love.
Know me, he thinks. This is me.
He pulls his hand out from beneath the fabric, shifting in order to pull them both back up. Gansey crouches over the crumpled bed sheets on his knees, hands going back to the elastic of Adam's pants. He wants them off. ]
Let me show you.
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But in truth, he's already fallen. And it's down on this bed with Gansey with the boy keeps him occupied with a kiss, gentle and sweet but passionate all the same. Because it's done with the accompaniment of moving fingers, warm and inviting over several inches of yes, Gansey, please, Gansey. He tells his hips to stay put but they want to move. Gansey's fingers tightening him is what he craves, what he hungers for when he forgets every trace of anger and hate accumulated from the day. Please, Gansey.
He gasps when he receives the opposite. Fingers are pulled away and Adam swallows hard, trying to catch on to what plans are in motion when Gansey pushes him up and backwards.
Let me show you.
Toes curl against the blankets during the beat of silence once he hears that request. Heart beats a little faster and fabric scrapes over his hips as tugs down at the stretchy hem, pulled with his underwear until it slides down to his thighs and he's all bare and exposed for Gansey to see. There's nothing to hide now. Not the fragile boy he is, sensitive to touch after years of no physical senses of affection. Certainly not the lustful signs that Adam reacts so fast and easily to everything Gansey does to him. And not that quiet part of his soul that wants to be attended to, that wants to see that potential of being cared for like Gansey might just provide.]
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Slowly and with some care, Gansey crawls forward until he can reach out and touch him. He drags his fingers down the length of the other boy's torso, leaning in so his mouth can follow after, leaving a trail of kisses until he reaches the length of Adam, hard and throbbing. He's never done anything like this before but that kind of inexperience has never stopped him before.
He presses his lips against the crown, tongue flicking across while his fingers wrap gently around Adam's length. ]
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Adam swallows hard, the self-named apple at his neck shifting as his throat dries. His fingers claw beneath his own shirt, tugging it up low at his chest, just enough to let Gansey touch, to watch Gansey. The boy in front of him moves so unpredictably because just this morning, they were friends. Just this afternoon, they were estranged. Now they're ... something. Lovers seems to be too strong a word, especially when there's no way to tell what could happen after tonight. But he can't think of that now. The future doesn't matter when all he can see is Gansey, sweet Gansey.
A kiss presses against the tip of him and his heart warms. He expects to despise it, the way Gansey is so fragile and gentle with him like he just might break, like he's just another one of his belongings to protect. But that's not it, and Adam knows it.
He is fragile. And he wants nothing more than to envelop himself in this boy's hands, lips, everything.]
Gansey, ah ... [He moans, a hand reaching out to pet the top of Gansey's hair, the soft locks slipping easily through his fingers. There's a twitch against the other boy's mouth, a need in the stiffness that wets lips with small beads of precome. Adam can't remember how to breathe, but he doesn't think he'll need to anytime soon.]