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A Lonely Day - NSFW
On an ordinary day, Monmouth Manufacturing was a busy place. Ronan was generally just a room away, and Noah appeared every so often with little warning. At any moment, Blue or Adam might arrive, or even - if they were profoundly unlucky - Declan, just to make their day a little brighter.
Sunday mornings, on the other hand, tended to be calm. Ronan was invariably at Church, and Noah was often with him. Weekends in general meant extra working hours for Blue and Adam, which meant they were out, too. So here was Richard Campbell Gansey III, locked in the silence of what was - for once - a very empty house.
Sundays tended to be slow days.
It was rare for Gansey to really enjoy his time alone. He always felt far more productive when his friends were around to bounce off, and in their absence, he generally distracted himself by building his scale model, making notes on his maps, writing in his journal, or rereading one of his many tomes dedicated to Glendower. His room was full of those.
For once, none of that was able to settle Gansey's mind. He sat up in the bed, setting the book he'd been thumbing through aside. He'd read it dozens of times before, and in spite of that, it wasn't going in. He lifted his hand up to his head, rubbing an imaginary headache away from his temple. He couldn't settle to anything today, and he couldn't put a finger on precisely why. Nothing untoward had happened. He wasn't fighting with Adam, for what felt like the first time in weeks. He'd slept through the majority of last night. Ronan was in the one place that virtually precluded any chances of him getting in trouble. Gansey ought to feel calm. There was no need for the tension creeping across his chest, or for the restlessness in his bones. He couldn't account for it.
Unbidden, his thoughts turned to Blue. It occurred to him that if this were an ordinary night, he would lift his phone and call her now. He would talk about everything that came into his mind, whether it felt related to this feeling or not, and somehow, she would unravel the knots in his muscles. She didn't even have to be beside him to do it; her attention and consideration were enough. Her words, answering his. Even if they didn't say anything of great import. Even if they said very little of anything at all. He wished she wasn't working. He wished he could go to Nino's now, and steal both a table and Blue's attention. He knew he couldn't. That would be venturing too far into dangerous territory, a far too public and obvious admission of how he craved her company.
He couldn't do it. But, God, he knew he craved it. His head fell back, knocking against the metal frame of his bed. He didn't even care. Now that his thoughts had wandered in Blue's vicinity, they had taken it upon themselves to draw the shape of her in Gansey's mind. He thought of her dark hair, pulled every which way into just-about-a-ponytail at the back of her head, with every rogue strand clipped into a mass of spikes and tufts on top. He knew that she didn't do that to make her hair beautiful. She did it to make it unique, and eccentric, and so very Blue, but that was exactly why it was beautiful. That was exactly why she was beautiful. He could see her hands clipping each of those tufts into place, and then he could see those hands dropping and moving over his own hands, and then -
God, he couldn't. He couldn't think of her like this. But he was, anyway, whether he wanted to or not. He was imagining her pale hand sliding over his arm, removing the tension in his chest with her fingers instead of her word. He was imagining her slipping into his lap, wrapping her arms around him, and then leaning, leaning...
He shifted, uncomfortable, and his hand moved onto his shorts. They had tightened, as he knew they would have, because he was letting his mind run away with itself, and the flood of want that it triggered in him was impossible to deny. Tension spread from his chest like a virus, infecting his arms and his stomach, and then lower, so much lower. He moved to adjust himself, and if anything, that just made things worse.
In his head, he imagined he could hear Blue's laughter, and his stomach felt full of wings. Before he could stop himself he was thinking about kissing her, and this, of course, was the most forbidden thought of all. Forbidden because he was not allowed, and they were not allowed, and they had promised that they wouldn't. Even his arousal felt like a betrayal, as if by the very act of wanting, he was devaluing a friendship that meant everything to him.
It was Sunday morning. There was sunlight shining through Monmouth's tall windows. He was alone in the apartment, and there was no one to see, and no one to judge.
He slid his hand into his shorts.
Gansey's hand ran over his own length, as though he was testing the girth. He didn't do this often. There wasn't opportunity to do this often, because he was so rarely alone, and he would never have allowed himself to do it when anyone could hear. But there was no one to see. No one to judge. No one to make him feel guilty about wrapping his fingers around his cock, and sliding them up to the tip.
A sigh left him, the kind that drew relaxation with it. He sank further down into the sheets, letting them pool around him, and he let his legs fall apart. His other hand moved to open his shorts completely, and then he pulled himself out of his boxers. His fingers moved up and down, sliding very slowly and squeezing when he reached the head. After a few moments, his grip became tighter, and he started to stroke himself in earnest.
And as he did, his mind wandered. Blue was with him, right here. She was laughing at how warily he'd started this. Her hands were on his arms, and then on his neck, and he wanted to lose himself in her touch. He wanted to pull her onto his lap, feel the weight of her legs around him and the press of her chest against his. He could see it so clearly; her eyes locked on his, the slope of her neck down to her shoulders, and the swell of her chest. Her lips were so close.
He thought about what it would be like to kiss her. How her lips were so soft and inviting, how they would pillow against his. He had kissed enough girls to know the mechanics of it, to know how it was done and how it should feel. But with Blue, his imagination pushed it to new extremes. He imagined sliding his hand up along her neck, sinking it into her hair and pulling her close. He imagined running his tongue over her lips and then pushing it beyond, tasting her. God, but his fantasy was imperfect. He didn't know how she should taste. Instead, he found himself focusing on how it would feel to have her breath heating up his cheek, or the pulse in her neck speeding up as he kissed her, and kissed her again, and then pulled her into his arms and kept kissing her until both of their lips felt raw.
He imagined her smiling at him. Touching his face, and lifting his hand up to touch hers.
Something knotted in his stomach, and he gasped. Gansey came hard, shooting his release into the air. It fell back over his own hand and cock, making a mess out of him, and leaving him breathless. As breathless as he would be if that kiss had been real.
How he wished it had been real.
For a few moments, he lay there. He didn't move, didn't try to clean himself up. He let his breath catch up with itself. The first sound that left him was little more than a murmur, a soft little sound of delight. That was when he realised the tension had gone. It had left his shoulders, left his chest. In its wake, heat and pleasure had melted through his body, spreading out from his stomach to the very edges of his limbs. It took him a minute to quantify that feeling, and then he realised he felt good. Relaxed. Satisfied, even though in reality, he wasn't satisfied at all.
Minutes ticked by. The sun rose higher in the sky, and lengthening the glow that it was bestowing on Monmouth's floor. It occurred to him that Church would be finished by now. Very likely, Ronan would be thinking of coming home, if he wasn't on his way already.
More importantly, Blue's shift at Nino's would be halfway done.
He sat up, slid out of bed, and glanced down at his sheets. Evidence lay spattered on them, accusing him. He ran his thumb over his lower lip, and then with determined steps, moved into the little bathroom. It was the quickest shower he'd ever taken, but the water was hot enough to scald the memory from him. With a towel around his waist, he went back to his room and swept the sheets off his bed, balling them into a pile and then stuffing them into the bag that held the rest of his laundry.
Twenty minutes later, a key turned in the lock, the front door flew open, and Ronan thundered his way into the room. Gansey was seated on the sofa, his feet up and crossed at the ankles. His polo shirt was apple green and freshly pressed. His chinos looked as though they'd come straight from the ironing board, and there were clean sheets on his newly made bed. There was a book in his hands, and by all appearances, he looked to be enjoying it. Ronan slammed the door to his own bedroom shut, and a few minutes later, Noah slid into the apartment after him. Gansey closed the book, and with a widening smile, he moved onto the floor to add detail to his map. Sundays weren't such a very bad day, he considered. After all, it was good for everyone to spend some time alone.
Sunday mornings, on the other hand, tended to be calm. Ronan was invariably at Church, and Noah was often with him. Weekends in general meant extra working hours for Blue and Adam, which meant they were out, too. So here was Richard Campbell Gansey III, locked in the silence of what was - for once - a very empty house.
Sundays tended to be slow days.
It was rare for Gansey to really enjoy his time alone. He always felt far more productive when his friends were around to bounce off, and in their absence, he generally distracted himself by building his scale model, making notes on his maps, writing in his journal, or rereading one of his many tomes dedicated to Glendower. His room was full of those.
For once, none of that was able to settle Gansey's mind. He sat up in the bed, setting the book he'd been thumbing through aside. He'd read it dozens of times before, and in spite of that, it wasn't going in. He lifted his hand up to his head, rubbing an imaginary headache away from his temple. He couldn't settle to anything today, and he couldn't put a finger on precisely why. Nothing untoward had happened. He wasn't fighting with Adam, for what felt like the first time in weeks. He'd slept through the majority of last night. Ronan was in the one place that virtually precluded any chances of him getting in trouble. Gansey ought to feel calm. There was no need for the tension creeping across his chest, or for the restlessness in his bones. He couldn't account for it.
Unbidden, his thoughts turned to Blue. It occurred to him that if this were an ordinary night, he would lift his phone and call her now. He would talk about everything that came into his mind, whether it felt related to this feeling or not, and somehow, she would unravel the knots in his muscles. She didn't even have to be beside him to do it; her attention and consideration were enough. Her words, answering his. Even if they didn't say anything of great import. Even if they said very little of anything at all. He wished she wasn't working. He wished he could go to Nino's now, and steal both a table and Blue's attention. He knew he couldn't. That would be venturing too far into dangerous territory, a far too public and obvious admission of how he craved her company.
He couldn't do it. But, God, he knew he craved it. His head fell back, knocking against the metal frame of his bed. He didn't even care. Now that his thoughts had wandered in Blue's vicinity, they had taken it upon themselves to draw the shape of her in Gansey's mind. He thought of her dark hair, pulled every which way into just-about-a-ponytail at the back of her head, with every rogue strand clipped into a mass of spikes and tufts on top. He knew that she didn't do that to make her hair beautiful. She did it to make it unique, and eccentric, and so very Blue, but that was exactly why it was beautiful. That was exactly why she was beautiful. He could see her hands clipping each of those tufts into place, and then he could see those hands dropping and moving over his own hands, and then -
God, he couldn't. He couldn't think of her like this. But he was, anyway, whether he wanted to or not. He was imagining her pale hand sliding over his arm, removing the tension in his chest with her fingers instead of her word. He was imagining her slipping into his lap, wrapping her arms around him, and then leaning, leaning...
He shifted, uncomfortable, and his hand moved onto his shorts. They had tightened, as he knew they would have, because he was letting his mind run away with itself, and the flood of want that it triggered in him was impossible to deny. Tension spread from his chest like a virus, infecting his arms and his stomach, and then lower, so much lower. He moved to adjust himself, and if anything, that just made things worse.
In his head, he imagined he could hear Blue's laughter, and his stomach felt full of wings. Before he could stop himself he was thinking about kissing her, and this, of course, was the most forbidden thought of all. Forbidden because he was not allowed, and they were not allowed, and they had promised that they wouldn't. Even his arousal felt like a betrayal, as if by the very act of wanting, he was devaluing a friendship that meant everything to him.
It was Sunday morning. There was sunlight shining through Monmouth's tall windows. He was alone in the apartment, and there was no one to see, and no one to judge.
He slid his hand into his shorts.
Gansey's hand ran over his own length, as though he was testing the girth. He didn't do this often. There wasn't opportunity to do this often, because he was so rarely alone, and he would never have allowed himself to do it when anyone could hear. But there was no one to see. No one to judge. No one to make him feel guilty about wrapping his fingers around his cock, and sliding them up to the tip.
A sigh left him, the kind that drew relaxation with it. He sank further down into the sheets, letting them pool around him, and he let his legs fall apart. His other hand moved to open his shorts completely, and then he pulled himself out of his boxers. His fingers moved up and down, sliding very slowly and squeezing when he reached the head. After a few moments, his grip became tighter, and he started to stroke himself in earnest.
And as he did, his mind wandered. Blue was with him, right here. She was laughing at how warily he'd started this. Her hands were on his arms, and then on his neck, and he wanted to lose himself in her touch. He wanted to pull her onto his lap, feel the weight of her legs around him and the press of her chest against his. He could see it so clearly; her eyes locked on his, the slope of her neck down to her shoulders, and the swell of her chest. Her lips were so close.
He thought about what it would be like to kiss her. How her lips were so soft and inviting, how they would pillow against his. He had kissed enough girls to know the mechanics of it, to know how it was done and how it should feel. But with Blue, his imagination pushed it to new extremes. He imagined sliding his hand up along her neck, sinking it into her hair and pulling her close. He imagined running his tongue over her lips and then pushing it beyond, tasting her. God, but his fantasy was imperfect. He didn't know how she should taste. Instead, he found himself focusing on how it would feel to have her breath heating up his cheek, or the pulse in her neck speeding up as he kissed her, and kissed her again, and then pulled her into his arms and kept kissing her until both of their lips felt raw.
He imagined her smiling at him. Touching his face, and lifting his hand up to touch hers.
Something knotted in his stomach, and he gasped. Gansey came hard, shooting his release into the air. It fell back over his own hand and cock, making a mess out of him, and leaving him breathless. As breathless as he would be if that kiss had been real.
How he wished it had been real.
For a few moments, he lay there. He didn't move, didn't try to clean himself up. He let his breath catch up with itself. The first sound that left him was little more than a murmur, a soft little sound of delight. That was when he realised the tension had gone. It had left his shoulders, left his chest. In its wake, heat and pleasure had melted through his body, spreading out from his stomach to the very edges of his limbs. It took him a minute to quantify that feeling, and then he realised he felt good. Relaxed. Satisfied, even though in reality, he wasn't satisfied at all.
Minutes ticked by. The sun rose higher in the sky, and lengthening the glow that it was bestowing on Monmouth's floor. It occurred to him that Church would be finished by now. Very likely, Ronan would be thinking of coming home, if he wasn't on his way already.
More importantly, Blue's shift at Nino's would be halfway done.
He sat up, slid out of bed, and glanced down at his sheets. Evidence lay spattered on them, accusing him. He ran his thumb over his lower lip, and then with determined steps, moved into the little bathroom. It was the quickest shower he'd ever taken, but the water was hot enough to scald the memory from him. With a towel around his waist, he went back to his room and swept the sheets off his bed, balling them into a pile and then stuffing them into the bag that held the rest of his laundry.
Twenty minutes later, a key turned in the lock, the front door flew open, and Ronan thundered his way into the room. Gansey was seated on the sofa, his feet up and crossed at the ankles. His polo shirt was apple green and freshly pressed. His chinos looked as though they'd come straight from the ironing board, and there were clean sheets on his newly made bed. There was a book in his hands, and by all appearances, he looked to be enjoying it. Ronan slammed the door to his own bedroom shut, and a few minutes later, Noah slid into the apartment after him. Gansey closed the book, and with a widening smile, he moved onto the floor to add detail to his map. Sundays weren't such a very bad day, he considered. After all, it was good for everyone to spend some time alone.