[Ronan, meanwhile, is sporting the black shorts-and-tank combo that typically serves as his pajamas. He shuts the door behind him and climbs up onto the bed, which means - given the tightness of the space - he's practically climbing on top of Noah.]
[That isn't really a problem. Noah, grinning, just loops an arm around Ronan's neck, and settles back against his pillows with a slight bounce. In the fairy-light glow, he looks warm and rosy.
It's been all month, almost. They fell asleep together on the night the dream started, and since then Noah's bed has been cold. Maybe it's been the remnants of the dream world, or the worry of being caught by their friends, but either way Noah is more than ready to break the cycle of hesitance.
His free hand pushes up the hem of Ronan's tank top, seeking out bare skin, and he sighs.]
[Ronan's been afraid to be here, in the house, let alone in Noah's bed. He's immeasurably guilty for what happened in the dream, and so certain that the images from that dream must have replaced whatever good they've had together since Ronan's arrival (or return, rather). But Noah's forgiven him, for some reason, and Ronan won't stay away if Noah insists on having him close.
Knees hugging Noah's legs, Ronan bends over him and reaches out to cup Noah's face in his palms. He can never get enough of Noah's warmth, the solid realness of him. Ronan dips down to kiss him softly in greeting. It feels like ages since the last time they've done this.]
[The soft kiss and the gentle touch pull a quiet hum from Noah, and he returns them both eagerly- one thumb smooths the soft hair at the nape of Ronan's neck, and the other seeks out the base of his spine.
Of course I forgive you, dummy. He presses the thought into his actions, trailing his hand up across Ronan's scalp, through the fruit fuzz there. His instinct is to pull at it, play with it, but it falls short between his fingers.]
You should grow this out, [ he mumbles into the kiss. His nails draw lazy, light circles, but there's an energy behind his voice, like a well-hidden motor.]
[Ronan doesn't understand why it's an of course. Why should forgiveness ever be assumed? Ronan himself isn't very good at it. And even then, it's a long distance between forgiving someone and wanting to be near them again. Forgiving someone doesn't mean their touch is welcome. It doesn't mean love is possible anymore. Ronan thinks it would have been entirely reasonable if Noah never wanted to look at him again.
It doesn't matter now, though. Clearly. Ronan believes the love that he feels from Noah, and he returns it gratefully. Once the kiss breaks, Ronan nudges his nose affectionately against Noah's, and he breathes a light laugh at the request. He hadn't even considered growing out his hair again. Then again, he'd barely considered shaving it in the first place. It was all done in an impulsive fit of grief.]
[Ronan's kidding, of course, as evidenced by his smirk as he looks down at Noah. He's seriously considering it now, though. The hair thing. How much time is enough time to prepare to see his old self in the mirror again?]
[Noah makes a noise, and squirms a little. Reflexively, he clenches at Ronan's short hair, and nearly laughs at the outcome.
This is what I'm talking about, dude, he thinks at Ronan. Hair. But he tips his head to the side, offering up the pale expanse of his neck and collar, above the T-shirts drooping neck.]
[Ronan snickers against Noah's throat, and he has to acknowledge that Noah's right. It'd be fun if Noah had something to hold onto right now. But it also means that Noah can't really tug him away from the objective, which is currently to latch his mouth onto Noah's skin and tickle him with teeth and tongue. This, accompanied by a playful growl.]
[That draws another whine from Noah - apparently a quite vocal participant - and his hand leaves Ronan's hair to skim down to his tank top, clumsily seeking purchase on the bare skin beneath.
The bite marks are gonna be fun to explain, he says, but it isn't with distaste. He loves the attention, and he loves Ronan, and honestly he's a touch-starved teenage boy who's been craving this for years.]
Take this off. [Re: the shirt, which he's now tugging at insistently.]
[Ronan had honestly been so caught up in the moment - in being back in Noah's bed - that he'd forgotten they have several more people around now who might require such explanations. It had been just Ronan and Noah for so long. Now he's acutely aware of Noah's noises, too, and his face flushes as he sits back and straddles Noah's hips.
Nevertheless, he obeys, peeling his shirt off and tossing it aside. His hands land on Noah's chest and begin pushing his shirt up, too. Noah feels too small beneath them, soft skin and fragile bones.]
[Okay, ooookay, Ronan sitting back against him is a thing that is happening now, and Noah has to bite one lip to keep himself quiet. He wriggles out of his T-shirt - only getting it stuck briefly around his ears - pulling it up past the marks already blooming.
I'm not fragile, he argues, as his hands come back to rest on bare skin. He spreads his fingers over Ronan's back, tracing the edges of his tattoo, and pulls him down for another kiss. You aren't going to break me like this.]
[He can't help feeling that way, though. A living Noah means a Noah who can be hurt, and what is Ronan if not an instrument for hurting? When he isn't careful, naturally, he breaks things.
It's okay, though. He's assured. Ronan bends to Noah's urging, meeting Noah's lips and kissing him fervently - if not with total abandon. They've been apart for too long, even while they were technically near each other. He's missed the sugar-booze taste of Noah, the warmth of him, and the awkward angles of their limbs as their bodies tangle in a pillowy, too-cozy space.
Purring, he loves Noah's fingers drawing over the lines of his tattoo. The kiss breaks again and Ronan's hands slip under Noah, palms sliding along the curve of his spine and holding them close to each other.]
I'd rather worry about it than not have to.
[If Noah's heart wasn't beating, there'd be no concern. But then Noah's heart wouldn't be beating.]
[The affection and love in Ronan's thoughts make Noah's heart swell, and he beams at the warm press of hands on his back, at the feeling of their hearts beating so close together. He could be content to just lie here, chest to chest, skin to skin, for the rest of the night. He could be, but there's more that he wants.
While Ronan's distracted by talking, Noah finally frees one of his legs. He hooks it firmly over Ronan's hip.]
[Ronan would honestly have been content to simply lie there, too. But now something else is happening, and Noah's leg is wrapped around him, and Ronan makes a small noise in his throat. The temperature of the room feels like it's risen at least ten degrees in thirty seconds.]
...That works, too.
[He'll shut up now, scattering a line of kisses along Noah's jaw in a journey back to his lips.]
[Impatient, Noah tilts his head to catch the last kiss meant for his jaw. He tries to free his other leg, to hitch himself up closer, but the cramped quarters make it a difficult task. His own squirming tugs another groan from his throat, and he half-laughs into the kiss.
A little nervously, You're okay with this, right? It's not too much?]
[It's probably too much. That doesn't mean Ronan wants to stop, though. It's fine. They're still half-clothed, and it's really not anything, even though Ronan is gasping against Noah's mouth. One hand slides to Noah's hip, thumb hooking at the waistband of his pajamas but not tugging. The other travels up Noah's spine until it finds his hair, fingers combing through it as Ronan palms the back of his head and holds him gently in the kiss. Some semblance of control.]
[Ronan's verbal - mental? - assurance answers little, but Noah can feel the enthusiasm in his actions, and it's intoxicating. When one thumb slips under the waistband, Noah gives a choked whine and swivels his hips just a touch, trying to urge further action. His foot thumps against the wall, one swift noise that he barely hears.]
[Being directly above Noah's room, Gansey can hear quite a bit from the loft. There's a few noises that sound like Noah whimpering, and then a thud. He sets aside his communicator--he'd been looking at the Network. He can't shake the idea that maybe, just maybe, Blue could show up. He frowns as he makes his way down the stairs. Is Noah alright?
Gansey leans over and knocks on his strange bedroom door.]
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text.
i'm bored
[Sent from across the house, just a little before midnight. Definitely a booty call.]
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Dude, were you, like, right outside?
[He's stretched out on the bed with pajama legs and socked feet in front of him, hair sticking up a little.]
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[Ronan, meanwhile, is sporting the black shorts-and-tank combo that typically serves as his pajamas. He shuts the door behind him and climbs up onto the bed, which means - given the tightness of the space - he's practically climbing on top of Noah.]
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It's been all month, almost. They fell asleep together on the night the dream started, and since then Noah's bed has been cold. Maybe it's been the remnants of the dream world, or the worry of being caught by their friends, but either way Noah is more than ready to break the cycle of hesitance.
His free hand pushes up the hem of Ronan's tank top, seeking out bare skin, and he sighs.]
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Knees hugging Noah's legs, Ronan bends over him and reaches out to cup Noah's face in his palms. He can never get enough of Noah's warmth, the solid realness of him. Ronan dips down to kiss him softly in greeting. It feels like ages since the last time they've done this.]
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Of course I forgive you, dummy. He presses the thought into his actions, trailing his hand up across Ronan's scalp, through the fruit fuzz there. His instinct is to pull at it, play with it, but it falls short between his fingers.]
You should grow this out, [ he mumbles into the kiss. His nails draw lazy, light circles, but there's an energy behind his voice, like a well-hidden motor.]
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It doesn't matter now, though. Clearly. Ronan believes the love that he feels from Noah, and he returns it gratefully. Once the kiss breaks, Ronan nudges his nose affectionately against Noah's, and he breathes a light laugh at the request. He hadn't even considered growing out his hair again. Then again, he'd barely considered shaving it in the first place. It was all done in an impulsive fit of grief.]
Can't you just play with Murphy's hair?
[That would go over well.]
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Yeah, but I don't wanna grab his like that.
[His cheeks are pink, and he twists his nose up in mock offense.]
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[Ronan's kidding, of course, as evidenced by his smirk as he looks down at Noah. He's seriously considering it now, though. The hair thing. How much time is enough time to prepare to see his old self in the mirror again?]
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[But he hears that note of curiosity in Ronan's head, and counts it a success.]
Unless you want to watch me mess around with Murphy.
[Because Ronan's not the only one who's a Little Shit.]
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[Ronan's not worried about it. He dips down again, this time to nibble playfully at the crook of Noah's neck.]
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[Noah makes a noise, and squirms a little. Reflexively, he clenches at Ronan's short hair, and nearly laughs at the outcome.
This is what I'm talking about, dude, he thinks at Ronan. Hair. But he tips his head to the side, offering up the pale expanse of his neck and collar, above the T-shirts drooping neck.]
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The bite marks are gonna be fun to explain, he says, but it isn't with distaste. He loves the attention, and he loves Ronan, and honestly he's a touch-starved teenage boy who's been craving this for years.]
Take this off. [Re: the shirt, which he's now tugging at insistently.]
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Nevertheless, he obeys, peeling his shirt off and tossing it aside. His hands land on Noah's chest and begin pushing his shirt up, too. Noah feels too small beneath them, soft skin and fragile bones.]
I don't think I marked you up too bad.
[Yet?]
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I'm not fragile, he argues, as his hands come back to rest on bare skin. He spreads his fingers over Ronan's back, tracing the edges of his tattoo, and pulls him down for another kiss. You aren't going to break me like this.]
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It's okay, though. He's assured. Ronan bends to Noah's urging, meeting Noah's lips and kissing him fervently - if not with total abandon. They've been apart for too long, even while they were technically near each other. He's missed the sugar-booze taste of Noah, the warmth of him, and the awkward angles of their limbs as their bodies tangle in a pillowy, too-cozy space.
Purring, he loves Noah's fingers drawing over the lines of his tattoo. The kiss breaks again and Ronan's hands slip under Noah, palms sliding along the curve of his spine and holding them close to each other.]
I'd rather worry about it than not have to.
[If Noah's heart wasn't beating, there'd be no concern. But then Noah's heart wouldn't be beating.]
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While Ronan's distracted by talking, Noah finally frees one of his legs. He hooks it firmly over Ronan's hip.]
I'd rather not worry about anything.
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...That works, too.
[He'll shut up now, scattering a line of kisses along Noah's jaw in a journey back to his lips.]
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A little nervously, You're okay with this, right? It's not too much?]
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Gansey leans over and knocks on his strange bedroom door.]
Noah, everything okay? Are you hurt?
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Crap.]
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