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Wonder Press

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what if i edited and posted the pwp i wrote a few months ago :flushed:

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glow

Post-game soreness on a hotel-stiff mattress, and Holster stares at the ceiling and says, “I’m in love with you.”

Rans doesn’t say anything. Holster doesn’t expect him to; it won’t be rejection, whatever response he gives, but it won’t be — that. There’s not gonna be a golden, movie-glow kiss tonight. And it’s okay, really. Holster’s just — 4-3 loss, puck to the one spot his shin guards don’t reach, stick to the stomach, fist to the jaw — he’s tired of talking around it when it’s not a secret.

The floor creaks from the vague direction of the bathroom. “You don’t have to say anything,” Holster says. He sighs.

His bed dips. He keeps his eyes trained on the ceiling, but he rests one of his hands palm up. Feels Rans carefully cover it with his own, fingers lightly searching Holster’s wrist, and Holster turns his hand to give him better access to his pulse. Ransy told him once that it’s grounding to touch him like that. Something about forcing himself back into the moment, something with the routine familiarity of feeling proof of life underneath his fingertips.

Holster waits until he counts thirty seconds in his head. Then he gently pulls away, slow enough to trail his fingers along Rans’s, slow enough to glance up at him and see something like yearning in his face before looking away again. There’s not enough time in the world for him to figure out what to do with that.

He says, soft, “We both know it’s been there, Ransy. Just kinda — wanted to say it tonight, that’s all.” He sits up. Stretches. “And now we don’t have to talk about it ever again.”

Holster glances at him as Rans leans in to kiss him.

Oh — Rans tilts his face up like he’s gonna break if he lets go, Rans is pulling on his thigh like he wants Holster in his lap, Rans exhales as he threads his fingers through Holster’s hair and Holster could cry, knees to the outside of Rans’s hips, shaking as he runs a thumb over his cheekbone. 

He kisses him back. If these are their only sober kisses, Holster’s gonna do it right. Even if Rans doesn’t love him back. Even if this — tugging Rans’s bottom lip with his teeth, dotting a kiss to his jaw and his neck and back again, pulling closer and being pulled, god, Ransy exhales and it feels like they’re melting into each other — Holster wants it, even if this changes everything, if it changes nothing, if there’s regret and heartbreak waiting in the morning. 

He kisses him and learns how Rans likes to be kissed. It’s something like Holster’s hand teasing his shirt and flirting with the hemline, breath caught when Holster traces a winding line from his hip to his chest. Rans likes weight, pressure; he pulls Holster closer until Holster switches positions, one leg between Rans’s, his forearm & elbow holding him up so he doesn’t crush Rans until Rans laughs and says I won’t break. He likes this, too: taking Holster’s shirt off. He likes this, too: lips to the dip at Holster’s collarbones. And Holster thinks he could live on this forever, if this is all they get. 

“It’d change things, if we did this,” Rans whispers later, his fingers hooked into Holster’s sweatpants. His gaze is steady. It means the world, that his gaze is steady. 

Holster says, “We don’t have to,” and is helpless by those eyes. Holster says, “We can stop now, easy, and it doesn’t have to change anything. We’ve kissed after kegsters and it’s been fine, right?”

He says it measured and careful, offering the out while believing none of it. None of this has felt like a drunken makeout with a best friend. 

Rans looks up at him. He’s biting his lip, thinking, and fuck Holster wants to kiss him. He’s loved his thinking face for years now. He doesn’t move, waiting and doing his best to forget the hand at his sweats and the suggestion it holds, watching the thoughts cross Rans’s face. 

And Rans says, “You love me.”

“Yes.” 

And Ransy says, “But you don’t know I love you, too,” and smiles slightly, and Holster’s whole world glows movie gold. 

“You do?”

“Yeah,” Rans says. “You didn’t know?” Holster shakes his head. 

Loves him. He cups his hands together and half expects stars to fill them up. Rans loves him. He’s boundless, he’s so damn light, and he wants to kiss him and to smile so much the kiss is terrible, wants— 

“Can I kiss you?” Holster asks, and oh, this is how Rans kisses when he’s in love. He nearly missed this. 

And it’s do you want to? between kisses and laughter and smiles and then it’s c’mon, Ransy. Let’s change everything.

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do you do art commissions

i do! :]

here is my commission info!

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god i love a fussy little man. make your intricate plans, babe. stress out more about not being in control. wear fancy little clothes. be gay.

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commissioned by very skilled girlfriend @horrortragedies for some good nurseydex art

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commissioned my super skilled girlfriend @horrortragedies for some good nurseydex art. behold the full nsfw version on his twitter ;)

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commissioned my super skilled girlfriend @horrortragedies for some good nurseydex art. behold the full nsfw version on his twitter ;)

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apparently using the nurseydex tag is tricky bc a lot of spam porn bots use it for their shit. i love this website

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commissioned my super skilled girlfriend @horrortragedies for some good nurseydex art. behold the full nsfw version on his twitter ;)

[hashtagdex]

commissioned my super skilled girlfriend @horrortragedies for some good nurseydex art. behold the full nsfw version on his twitter ;)

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behold the full nsfw version on his twitter ;)

commissioned by very skilled girlfriend @horrortragedies for some good nurseydex art

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commissioned my very skilled girlfriend @horrortragedies for some good nursey/dex art

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guy that says grace before giving head

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happy bday nursey