kingseeking | PSL/Meme Continuation

PSL/Meme Continuation

for PSLs and meme continuation/overflow

[It's roughly two in the morning on Friday Night/Saturday Morning, when Ronan stumbles through the door at Monmouth. The keys to the BMW are a jangle in his hand, and the door echoes loud as it slams shut inelegantly behind him. He's warm with alcohol, with adrenaline, with coming home to Gansey on the mattress and his cardboard Henrietta on the floor around him. He sways a little and it pulls a grim laugh from sharp lips as he peers at Gansey.]

I think-- I might be drunk.

[Ronan offers this surprisingly brightly; the mix of alcohol and beating Kavinsky's Mitsubishi because he didn't know how to shift through the fucking turns put him in a pleasant mood. The other boy would be furious at school on Monday, but that was hardly a detriment. It was an outlet, an excuse. Kavinsky's bad temper gave him somewhere to put his anger that wasn't his friends.

He stripped out of his coat, letting it fall to the floor before stepping around Gansey's model of Henrietta with almost exaggerated care. It's more that he doesn't entirely trust his reflexes to navigate it. It's not that he's unaware that Gansey worries about him on nights like this, when he mixes racing and alcohol and impulsive decisions. It's just that sometimes the adrenaline is the only thing that makes sense, sometimes the weight of being cared about burns because he can't put it into the words he wants to say.

He flops down on the mattress in the rest of his clothes, careful not to accidentally fall on Gansey, and noses into his shoulder. He's like a dog that's still deciding whether or not it wants attention, but still wants proximity.]

[Gansey’s eyes, tired, lecture Ronan before his mouth does. Tonight is one of those nights where he may have been able to go to sleep at a somewhat reasonable hour if only he hadn’t been up worrying (as he so often does with Ronan). It had been no wonder where the other boy would be. The smell of gasoline and liquor confirms for him what he already knows, and finally, eyebrows raised, he says:]

You think you’re drunk.

I’d say I know you’re drunk.

[Evidenced by plenty, but particularly by the way he’s flopped into bed with him. The two of them have been getting closer lately, but it’s still rather a new thing to be this close. Ronan’s nose on his shoulder makes it difficult to stay angry, but not so difficult that he can’t still feel exasperated. He sighs a little, adjusting where he lays, but not so much as reaching for him yet. It’s best to let Ronan be the one to decide how close they should be.]

Were you driving too? [His voice has an edge to it.] You’ll kill someone that way.

[Ronan can see the lecture in his eyes, but he doesn't shoot him a look back or bare his teeth. It's a pleasant feeling that hasn't tipped into the typical darker feelings, the anger or the sadness, the things he still struggles with, that tie him up in knots inside of himself. He doesn't want to fight about it tonight, not with Gansey.

He makes a rough sound in his throat, somewhere between a scoff and a sigh.]

It was just the way home.

[He doesn't actually apologize for making him worry, or admit that it was stupid, but there's something to the quiet of his voice. And he is trying to be better, to navigate the way that this space here touches the fights and drinking and cars races. He doesn't race impaired anymore. What Gansey thinks matters to him, and his disapproval cuts deeper than he has words for. It can be a war hard-fought sometimes, the way that Gansey's voice pushes against the ways that Ronan fights against himself. But it matters.

He forsakes his keys somewhere in the blankets, instead letting his fingers press in a light touch against the edge of Gansey's ribs. His nose turning into a drag of his cheek against his shoulder, which is to say that he's feeling touchy, at least for the moment. That as new as this thing between them is, he's at least comfortable enough here to lean into it.

Alcohol can just as easily turn him into storms and fury depending on the night. But for tonight it seems to leave him with a pleasant edge, takes away some of the bite, even if it still thrums under his skin. Almost close enough to touch.]

[This is a difficult edge to tow with Ronan. "It was just the way home," is not a satisfying answer when it comes to getting behind the wheel drunk. Even so, Gansey knows that there isn't much he can do about it aside from tell him what he thinks, and Ronan already knows what he thinks. That's why he said "It was just the way home." It's not as if he'd think Gansey would approve, but he told the truth anyway - and Gansey believes it's the truth, and believes in that that Ronan didn't drink before racing, which is...a lukewarm sort of comfort.

[Things are improving, but that doesn't stop worry from gnawing at Gansey's stomach nearly every time Ronan grabs his keys. But is that worth ruining a mild mood in favor of a fight they've already had one hundred times? He's trying, Gansey thinks, Someday I'll get through to him.

[But for tonight - this mild night, where Ronan runs a finger over his ribs and turns a cheek into his shoulder - Gansey will let it go with nothing more than a:] Ask me for a ride next time. [He knows he won't, but he can't just say nothing. Still, his voice is gentle, and he turns his own cheek to press it against Ronan's head. Then a smile makes its way onto his face and the ghost of a chuckle jumps in his chest as he shifts a bit to put two arms around him.]

You seem to be in a good mood. [Is saying so tempting fate? Maybe. He hopes his tone will leave no room to be mistaken as judgmental. It's full of fondness in all reality.] Don't bite me too hard for pointing it out.

[Ronan knows there's tension here, that things could easily tip into an argument. But Gansey doesn't push, not like he could, like he has on other nights. So Ronan just murmurs an acknowledgement when he tells him to ask for a ride. He wont say it in words, because he isn't going to lie to him, and he doesn't want to say something that Gansey will feel obligated to lecture him about.

But he lets it go, and presses his cheek against the top of his head, and Ronan lets his eyes flutter closed for a moment. Gansey shifting so he can curl his arms around him, and Ronan leans into the contact, his fingers against his ribs shifting slowly so that his fingertips can trace against the line of his spine, pressing into his chest.

He can hear the amusement, and he opens one sharp blue eye to peer up at Gansey when he comments on Ronan's good mood, but he doesn't pull away from him, doesn't change how he touches him. And it sounds like the other boy is pleased, and not judging him for how he got there. So he doesn't pull away, it doesn't hit that hair-trigger that Ronan can have sometimes, where even casual words put venom on his tongue.

Instead he just looks at Gansey, his gaze intent. It makes his heart race and his touch clutch against him. He's beautiful, in a way that makes him feel like a trespasser for daring to put his hands on him. He doesn't deserve it, and yet he gives him this anyway- himself- and in the moment it feels like a secret he can keep. He leans up a little, his smile sharp and just a little wicked.]

Not too hard.

[His voice falling somewhere between a promise and a challenge. He knows that Gansey probably didn't mean it as an invitation, but Ronan is intoxicated enough that he can't resist the desire. He's slow as he shifts though, giving him enough time to protest, to say something.

But if he doesn't, he'll tug down his collar enough that he can press an open-mouthed kiss against his neck, just above where it meets his shoulder.]

[Ronan’s smile is always sharp, but Gansey has learned somewhat to differentiate between the different types of points. This is a look that he’s sure is meant to be a bit mischievous, and it’s a bit charming for that. Still, the feeling of warm lips against his neck makes him shiver a little.

[He hadn’t much considered himself to be open about boys until he and Ronan became close. It’s not as if he sneezed at the idea - it just hadn’t crossed his mind. But Ronan had been devilishly and dangerously handsome from the start, and being allowed to be close to him like this feels like a rare privilege for anyone.

[Something about the way Ronan trusts him makes it all the more enticing. He hadn’t been quite so prickly when they first met - before the death of Niall Lynch - but these days, any positive emotion is decidedly more so. Gansey cranes his neck a bit in a subtle invitation, and another soft chuckle escapes his throat. Warm hands run gentle over Ronan’s back over his shirt.]

That was a request, not a challenge. [His tone is teasing. It’s difficult to think of what to say next. Gansey is always a little afraid of flipping Ronan’s switch and scaring him away. But it feels so nice to be close like this. His heart is full of affection reserved only for the boy next to him.] I’m happy to see you too, Lynch.

[Still a bit teasing, but Gansey puts the bridge of his nose against Ronan’s shaved head in a warm gesture.]

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PSL/Meme Continuation

ronan's drunk and he loves gansey

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