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Ronan was close enough to feel Gansey’s breath against his cheek when Gansey pushed him away. 'Pushed' was a strong word for it, but his hand was firm on Ronan’s chest, holding him far enough back that he could see Gansey’s expression, eyebrows raised in what looked like apology. Gritting his teeth, Ronan froze, his throat tight with shame; he’d been sure that he was reading the situation right, there was no way that he and Gansey would have ended up in a goddamn storage closet if Gansey hadn’t wanted this. He must have changed his mind, realized this was a bad idea at the last minute.
Breath caught in his chest, Ronan stood silently for a long moment, his lips slightly parted—he thought they’d be against Gansey’s by then, that he’d have found out if they were as soft as they looked—before taking a step back. He bumped into a shelf, and a row of old history textbooks toppled over like dominoes, kicking up a cloud of dust as they toppled onto their sides. “I—“ Words were never his strong suit. “Sorry.” He swallowed. “I’ll go.”
“Wait.” Gansey’s hand was around Ronan’s; Ronan was about to shake it off, apologize again, make his exit, when Gansey went on, “I want this.”
Ronan knew what would come next. “But?”
Taking a step forward, Gansey shifted his grip on Ronan’s hand from a desperate grab to a decidedly intentional handhold, their fingers linked. “I want this, but if I kiss you right now, I won’t be able to stop.”
Christ, Ronan’s heart could only take so much of this. Right then, he wanted to bury his face in Gansey’s neck, to hide for a moment and let his brain catch up, let his body settle. But Gansey was just short enough that Ronan couldn’t—the six inch difference didn’t feel like so much when they had been almost kissing--so he ended up with the side of his head pressed to the side of Gansey’s, lips near his ear. “So don’t stop.”
Gansey tilted his head so that his lips were once again right near Ronan’s cheek. “We’re reviewing for the exam in Latin.”
“Skip it.”
When Gansey laughed, his breath was warm. Hot. “Unlike you, I can’t afford to. I’m already at a low B.”
Lifting his head, Ronan laughed; he was sure that he felt Gansey shiver. “Well, in that case—”
“Meet back here at lunch?” Gansey’s voice went up at the end, more than a normal question, something decidedly colored with hope.
“We could go for a drive instead.”
“Where?”
“Your place? That access road near public works?” Putting a hand on Gansey’s hip, Ronan was struck with the urge to tug the fabric of his shirt up, to trace his thumb over the skin, the bone. “Anywhere.”
When Gansey smiled, Ronan recognized the glint in his eyes—the same look he got when he found some new break in his search for Glendower, something beautiful or impossible or both. “Meet at my car,” he said, then took his hand out of Ronan’s and slid it up his arm, his shoulder, his neck, until Gansey’s fingers cradled the back of Ronan’s skull. He pulled Ronan down a little, tilted his own head up, and kissed Ronan’s cheek, just beyond the corner of his lips. “Come on,” he whispered after, Ronan painfully aware of the stubble keeping him from really feeling Gansey’s lips on his skin. “Class.”
“You’re the fucking worst, you know.” Ronan kissed Gansey’s cheek, the same place; there was no stubble on Gansey’s face, no roughness at all. “Let’s go.”
It took all of his willpower to turn around, driven only by the promise of kissing Gansey on some side road in an hour, the gearstick of the Camaro digging into his stomach as he leaned between their seats.