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threewaywithdelusion · 2 years ago

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It Echoes A Spark (Ronsey)

This fic is on AO3, you can find it here. But I just went down a Ronsey rabbit-hole, so I felt like sharing it. This takes place during the Gansey on fire scene.

He was good at dangerous things, both in his sleep and while awake.

“Maybe,” Ronan replied. Gansey was moving away from Kavinsky, towards a tangle of parked cars. They looked like a dark, mechanical forest growing under the floodlights. “I’ll light a candle for your car.”

“You aren’t leaving? Harsh.”

If Gansey was going, Ronan was going.

He exchanged a few more words, sharp like teeth, with Kavinsky. Then he followed Gansey, snagging an abandoned bottle of vodka along the way.

Gansey did not get inside the BMW as Ronan had expected. Instead, he crossed to the other side of it, the side facing away from Kavinsky and the drugged-out kids at the party. Though they were exposed under the bright floodlights, Ronan felt as if they were hidden. The cars went all around them, a wall between them and the world. Only the music and the smell of weed invaded this sanctuary.

It was just the two of them. The way it had been before Adam. Before Noah.

Gansey was still on fire. The lights threw sharp shadows across his body. Across one eye, under the sharp line of his jaw. A little puddle of darkness above his collarbone.

He didn’t look like King Gansey. Neither did he look like the attainable boy from the Dollar City. He looked like a dark god, an ethereal, otherworldly being. He looked dangerous.

Ronan’s pulse jumped like his heart had stepped on the accelerator.

While Ronan had been staring, Gansey had been staring back at him. A rush of shame rose in Ronan, but there was no censure in Gansey’s eyes.

Ronan decided to play with fire.

He stepped forwards so he was closer to Gansey. Gansey didn’t step away, though there was a foot of space between his back and the door of the BMW.

Ronan lifted the bottle of vodka to his own lips and took a few deep gulps. It felt like inhaling fire. It felt like being alive.

He passed the bottle to Gansey. Gansey took it. He tipped his head back, swigging straight from the bottle, his throat moving as he swallowed.

“We’re different from them,” said Gansey when he pulled the bottle away. “From Kavinsky. We matter.”

Ronan stepped closer. Gansey stepped towards the BMW.

“Why?” It was a demand.

“Because we’re more,” said Gansey. “We love. We dream. We want.”

Ronan stepped closer. Gansey stepped back.

“They want too,” said Ronan. “Speed, drugs, sex.”

“That’s not wanting,” said Gansey. “That’s the absence of want. That’s trying to escape.”

Ronan stepped forwards. Gansey stepped back. Gansey’s spine hit the car door.

“You don’t ever want to escape?” asked Ronan.

“Escape what?” asked Gansey. “Henrietta? No.”

“Not fucking Henrietta,” snarled Ronan. “Your head. Your thoughts. Your dreams.”

Gansey was quiet, but not a patient, put-together sort of quiet. It was a dangerous, anticipatory quiet. Like the moment after the fuse had been lit, but before the spark reached the gunpowder.

He met Ronan’s eyes and his gaze was ablaze. “Yes. All the time.”

Ronan rested a hand against the metal of his car, to the right of Gansey’s head. It felt hot to the touch.

“What are you running from?” demanded Ronan.

“Death,” said Gansey. “What are you running from?”

He didn’t ask if Ronan was running. He didn’t need to.

“Myself,” said Ronan.

Gansey didn’t ask why. He didn’t need to.

Ronan leaned closer, committing himself to burning. Gansey’s gaze changed. For half a moment as realization crawled across his face, he reverted to normal Gansey. He was dragging himself from the inferno.

Ronan hated it. He kissed him.

Gansey hardly hesitated before he kissed back. His lips were soft but demanding. He clearly knew was he was doing, moving in a way that sends sparks down all of Ronan’s extremities. Ronan didn’t know how to kiss, but that didn’t matter. It wasn’t about the kiss. It was about him. It was about Gansey. It was about burning.

Glass shattered next to them as Gansey dropped the bottle. His hands rose to Ronan’s head, faltering when there was no hair for him to pull. He lowered his hands to the collar of Ronan’s leather jacket, yanking Ronan harder against him.

Ronan went willingly, the way he always did. Only for Gansey. Always for Gansey.

He bit at Gansey’s lip and Gansey gasped. Then Gansey’s tongue was in Ronan’s mouth and the kiss changed. It became deeper, more nuanced, and all Ronan could do was hang on and try to give as good as he got.

He loved this Gansey, reckless and powerful and hungry. He loved him fearlessly, the love not dulled by the anger that washed over every other emotion.

This Gansey matched Ronan’s fierce darkness in a way the other one almost never did. For Ronan, it was like looking into a mirror and not hating what gazed back. Gansey was himself made better. Gansey was a twin soul with a different kind of pain. Ronan wore his on his sleeve, while Gansey hid it in his heart. Ronan bared his teeth to scare others away while Gansey smiled wide to pretend he was fine.

They were burning.

Ronan had dreamt of Gansey’s mouth. He’d imagined what it might feel like. He’d fantasized about what it might taste like.

For once, Ronan’s dream were paltry things compared to reality.

He hadn’t imagined the way Gansey growled into his mouth. He hadn’t imagined Gansey’s hands, soft and firm, pressing into the small of his back. He hadn’t imaged Gansey’s chest, broad and muscled from rowing, against his.

Ronan pulled his mouth from Gansey’s. Gansey inhaled sharply and before he could react, Ronan trailed his lips down. He kissed along Gansey’s jaw, then down his neck. Gansey’s hands tightened where they held Ronan’s shoulder.

Gansey was a good few inches shorter than Ronan and Ronan had to bent considerably as he trailed kisses lower. He had lost count of how many times his eyes had snagged on the sharp corners of Gansey’s collarbones, and he wanted to taste them.

Gansey gasped as Ronan tugged the collar of his shirt aside. Ronan traced the outline of his collarbone with his tongue. Gansey let out a soft moan, his body shifting under Ronan. Gansey was coming undone before him, and he felt a surge of something that he was able to do this to Gansey. He wondered if anyone had ever seen Gansey come apart before.

He wasn’t sure he ever had, before tonight.

He surged back up to Gansey’s mouth, pressing them forcefully together and letting Gansey take control of the kiss.

This was everything Ronan hadn’t let himself think about. Muscled arms and a chiseled jaw and the musky scent of a boy’s sweat. Dick. Dick Gansey III. A hand cupping Ronan’s cheekbone, the skin soft and too smooth, having never seen a day of manual labor.

This was almost everything Ronan hadn’t let himself think about.

Ronan backed away from the kiss, raising his chin defiantly. Ronan had just given Gansey one of his biggest secrets and he was burning. Depending on what happened next, he could be turned into bitter ash.

Gansey straightened from the car, slowly sliding pieces of regular Gansey into place. It was like watching origami fold, little corners disappearing until the end result looked nothing like the original paper. Secrets tucking into hidden pockets.

Gansey, put-together and scholarly, met Ronan’s eyes. “You’re not like Kavinsky.”

“I am,” said Ronan. Dreams and kisses and the speedometer in his veins.

“You may appear alike on the surface, but you’re different underneath.”

The exact opposite of him and Gansey, the rebel and the scholar united by magic.

“What makes me and K so different?” sneered Ronan. “Am I knock-off brand of fucked up? The kind even Parrish could afford at the Dollar City?”

“No,” said Gansey. “You have a good heart.”

Ronan scoffed, looking away. In the distance, shadows flickered among the trees. He could tell there was a fire, but not what it consumed. Not if the fire was forging something or melting it apart.

“Ronan,” said Gansey sharply.

Ronan faced him again.

“You have a good heart,” Gansey repeated.

The fire in Ronan swelled and settled. He didn’t turn to ash. He didn’t become an inferno that scorched everyone around him. He didn’t burn and burn and burn.

Gansey knew. And everything was alright.

Ronan stepped around Gansey, unlocking the BMW and sliding smoothly into the driver’s seat. It took mere seconds for Gansey to walk around the car, but those few heartbeats gave Ronan a chance to look out the window, beyond the small bubble of solitude they had created for themselves.

K was visible in the distance, leaning against a car and laughing, Prokopenko and a huddle of girls beside him. Kavinsky felt distant, all of a sudden. Nowhere near as real as he’d felt earlier tonight. Nowhere near as tempting.

Gansey cut into Ronan’s line of vision as he got into passenger seat. Gansey was real, but he was also less tempting than he’d been.

The almost-right part.

“If you tell Parrish about this,” Ronan began.

“I won’t,” said Gansey seriously.

“If you tell Parrish, I will sick Chainsaw on the Pig until it’s covered in shit,” Ronan threatened.

“Ronan, I wouldn’t.”

Gansey met Ronan’s eyes, a mirror that saw too much.

Ronan scowled, turning away and starting the engine. He waited until he was sure Gansey was looking away, watching the explosions in the distance, then let a small smile play over his lips.

A tiny flicker, a safe fire. But it wouldn’t go out.

#the raven cycle #trc fanfic #Ronan lynch #richard campbell gansey iii #richard gansey #I don't know how to tag this man's name #Ronan and gansey #ronan x gansey #ronsey

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