Work Text:
i.
The clock remained quiet because none of the boys were looking at it. Consequently, the hands felt like they had stopped turning. At this timeless moment, Gansey was watching over Ronan, joy sparkling in his eyes; Ronan, who had tipped his head back to erupt in wholehearted laughter at whatever memory he was sharing.
"How long did it take ?" Gansey asked.
He was getting to hear the details of Ronan's bodily transformation, within the protective limits of Monmouth and the warmth of the kitchen, still a very neutral space, proper to hear and tell such things.
"The whole night."
"Hence the price," Gansey pointed out.
It wasn't a shameful thing to notice. Ronan nodded at his cleverness before lifting his can of beer.
"The art was— maybe six, seven hundred."
Gansey had already given his opinion on the art— a slightly shocked, amazed gasp. It was beautiful, terrible and definitive. Ronan had agreed to commit. The sudden maturity he had found in the design surprised him the most. Ronan, he had said, you marvelous idiot.
The topic of pain wasn't avoided. Ronan was almost happy to quench Gansey's thirst for personal experience, which went further than knowledge. Yes, it hurt. For him, it had been bearable. He had asked for a five minutes break, once. The artist had stretched their legs while waiting.
Ronan was glad to give out these details as well : the experience was too great to be kept for himself. Rather than enjoying the memory, he could have felt burdened.
"The most painful part no one tells you about is definitely applying the lotion." Ronan winced. "I'm so afraid to fuck it up. If it heals badly, then it's as good as gone."
"That would be terrible," Gansey agreed, heart twisting at the thought. "Are you supposed to apply it on your whole back ?"
"Only the tattoo. Gets me wriggling like a crazy worm every time," he concluded.
ii.
Of course Gansey would suggest to help. Strangely, Ronan had not expected him to, not tonight, when his presidential self felt far enough. He had been ready to turn the offer down, then it passed somewhere along the lines as Gansey wanting to give the tattoo a closer look so he said okay.
They weren't drunk enough that performing basic actions on their own would be an issue. Feelings made them feel lightheaded, like one body wasn't enough to keep them all until Ronan's arm was around Gansey's shoulder, establishing a bridge. They were one, just like that and there was enough room for both hearts.
Gansey would have reciprocated the gesture if not for the ink.
"Where is it ?"
Ronan asked for a second while he retrieved the product and searched for the words to tell him that he needn't behave heroically all the time. Gansey gave him another couple to sit down.
Having someone working on his back was indeed more relaxing, without mentionning the fear of missing a spot— now gone. Gansey marveled once again at the intricate patterns. They weren't quite the same than when he last had a look, maybe days ago. He felt like they will be different when he gets to see Ronan's bare back again and consequently mapped to the smallest detail, regretting that his memory was too flawed to keep the mental image intact.
Gansey was slow and methodical. Ronan closed his eyes to feel it more. The old tiles were imprinted behind his eyelids, rather than his own reflection and Gansey's golden hair. Gansey didn't flatly dismissed his decision to get a tattoo. He had tried to understand and agreed to put up with it, whether understanding truly came first.
Ronan understood that it was a great work. Gansey did all the great, noble things. When Ronan had enough of feeling, he opened them to look over his shoulder. Gansey broke his working pattern. Ronan thought about saying something. He had specifically wanted to thank Gansey, for this and all he had done before. Gansey indulged him with a smile. The back of his hand was cold against Ronan's cheek. Ronan turned around a bit more, got halfway through sitting sideways. Gansey, he noticed, shared the overflowing feelings even if they could be slightly different than his.
iii.
A mere thank you was a lot coming from Ronan, though it was so formal that it felt offensive in this specific setting. Gansey steadied his grip on the back of the wooden chair to kiss Ronan. He expected everything and the exact opposite at the same time, though he spared Ronan anything too demanding. Ronan's inexperience was in the way of his heart. Gansey felt his lips stretch in delight and they were both smiling the next second, sharing the same tiny space.
Gansey kissed his forehead, a blessing he didn't know how else to give. He was a swarm of butterflies, the moon, the night breeze, a king. Ronan tugged at his shirt. Gansey blindly followed. It felt like a continuation of the previous kiss, only that Ronan had grown comfortable enough to get a hand in Gansey's hair. He also pressed the kiss more on Gansey's lips. Gansey consequently toned his part down. Their knowledge of each other helped to adjust more easily and to find the good rythm.
Gansey had kissed before, but it quickly became obvious that Ronan needed his own scale. They didn't kiss long enough for any of them to be breathless. When their time was over, Ronan carefully pushed Gansey's head down a bit, using the hand still in his hair, then brushed his lips against Gansey's forehead. There was something so genuine in his actions that Gansey's heat ached.
He exhaled shakily before returning to his task. At first, Ronan bent to grant him access towards the middle of his back, then he stood and set the chair aside. If it itched, he didn't complain. When he was done, Gansey crossed his hands on Ronan's stomach and rested his forehead inches above the line of his shoulders.
"Come on."
Ronan slowly swapped their positions : Gansey in front of the sink and him behind his friend. He let water run from the tap, testing the temperature before taking Gansey's hands under the flow. Gansey let him, childishly enjoying how effortless Ronan was making the task for him. It was a delightful mess of fingers and scented foam for a second, then everything was clean.
Ronan had washed his hands. The thought had gotten strange, meaning that Gansey was close to thinking of his family. He heard his father metaphorically chiding him for not completing this basic action himself. He metaphorically argued that he had been able to, but letting Ronan do it felt better.
His mother, hoping to run for Congress, didn't need feelings. Only facts. The facts are that her priviledged son has chosen the strangest acquaintance.
"Gansey," Ronan called.
His voice was a much needed Ariane's thread. Gansey turned to look at him, distress plainly written on his chiseled features. Ronan combed his hair on the side, shedding light on the junction between his face and his neck. He kissed that exact spot. Gansey shuddered. He didn't see a reason why any of this would be forbidden but this feeling of elation did not come from staying inside of the limits people have drawn for him.
He held on the sink for support.
"Please."
He felt Ronan hesitate, breathing against his neck while he thought. Gansey closed his eyes upon feeling his lips, an inch lower than where they had landed last. Ronan's tongue touched his skin. He raked his teeth against a small portion of it, only once. Each motion made Gansey feel more liberated.
iv.
He had stopped holding it and cupped Ronan's cheeks to kiss him deeply, without holding back. Ronan welcomed him. Ronan forgave him.
v.
Nothing gold can last, Gansey thought upon waking up. An open window took the scent of breakfast through his door. He had overslept. Alcohol did that, sometimes. He didn't have anywhere to be but still rushed through the morning preparation and walked downstairs.
"Dick," Ronan greeted.
Gansey marveled at how from shortening Richard, it felt like he was being insulted. In a friendly way.
"Ronan," he amiably answered. "What time is it ?"
"Eleven something."
That's as precise as his perception of time was getting. Ronan tossed a light jar at him. Gansey looked inside. He saw darkness and flickering lights and looked up with a question in his eyes.
"Fireflies in a jar," Ronan cleared. "Stormy night included."
Gansey laughed and tossed it back. He would have missed the fresh scar on Ronan's arm if he had gone to sit without getting closer. Whatever intention he had before was gone.
Ronan placed his own hand over it before he could.
"It's on the surface." He sighed. "I took care of it."
"Nightmares ?" Gansey asked, too worried to sound detached.
"Not quite."
That's as many details as Gansey was getting. He glanced at the jar again. Stormy night included.
"It's fine," Ronan insisted. "I'm not wasting another month cuffed to a hospital bed."
Gansey grabbed the dishes before retreating to the table. They didn't talk until he apologized. Of course, he believed Ronan when he said that it was good. Ronan forgave him, not because of all the times he had done something rash and Gansey had forgiven him, but because he thought Gansey deserved forgiveness on that one.
They still didn't talk, but it felt better.