#interropunct you are so right he is a wild animal
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MI brainrot
Ethan comes out of the therapist office looking effortlessly cool. This is not a good sign. He’s got his mission face on, wearing something that could be conceived as a smile if you haven’t seen his proper one, which is crooked and a bit too wide, unleashed when he’s being brutally mocked by a dear friend or has one of his signature puns turned around on him. When mission face is off he’s intense, makes an amount of eye contact that on paper is around average, but feels interrogative when you’re under it. He’s moving smoothly, too. Benji knows for a fact that with his ribs and knee he should be walking in his usual lope, but he’s walking like he’s in poker game at gun point. Benji takes him home. In the kitchen, after small talk and tea, Ethan’s still got his game face on but he’s icing his leg and Benji’s given him a pamphlet so they don’t have to look at each other. Ethan tells him after 10 minutes, on the dot. “I’ve been jittery after missions where I didn’t use to be. The shrink says I’m not passively suicidal anymore, that’s why. Says I probably have been for a while, didn’t know.” He’s talking like he’s conserving money on a telegram. He hasn’t looked up from the pamphlet. Benji makes him another cup of tea, and after the next mission holds him by his uninjured body part (right shoulder seems okay) with enough pressure for him to feel it until he settles a little. Ethan thanks him with a foot rub the next week, long enough later that most people wouldn’t have connected it. Benji loves him, chooses to. It’s always been a choice for him, when he’s not in physical danger he can stack feelings around the corners of the problem till he’s looking straight through it. It’s what made him such a good technician, and it’s one of the things that made him decide to love Ethan at first. He can’t. He’ll buckle down and work through it, but always as a person. Benji will stay while Ethan works out how to feel like a person again.
#never gonna be happy with how this is done#but the concept?? solid#no better prompt generator than your brain on 4 hours of sleep#mission impossible#ethan hunt#benji dunn#when I was a kid my favorite animals were chickens#so because my parents are the people they are we spent a lot of time with chickens#I discovered pretty quickly you’ve got to stay still and open and let them come to you#Ethan is not a chicken but the rules of domestication (or something approximating it) apply#it takes Julia watching Benji do the same dance with him to recognize why she always felt like a bit of a Disney princess with him#some innate kindness charming the woodland creatures to her hand#really what I’m saying is if you want a relationship with him you have to watch the little prince (1974)#interropunct you are so right he is a wild animal
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adansey w/ 11 perhaps?
“I didn’t know you were so sensitive.”
ANON WHO ARE YOU, THIS IS THE MOST GALAXY-BRAIN PROMPT EVER!If you can’t tell, I adore this, and thus the fill it’s long. A lot of pining and build up, mostly under the cut. Watch out for references of canon abuse. Let me page @interropunct for this, as he was having a bit of a hard day.
Other Raven Cycle fills: Ronsey #29 ; Pynch #21
From this prompt list!
Gansey’s penchant for finding things came with the responsibility to look for them. For good measure, he had always subscribe to the policy of finders keepers, whenever applicable — and that, too, was a responsibility because you should never chase something you’re not willing to take care of after.
That was a rule for information, for things and for people — one that didn’t save him from the very human burden of having favourites.
For some of his findings he had found a new home, be it final and fulfilling of the overall purpose or a new temporary step to get the process rolling. Other, he kept with him, for the big picture or for a genuine attachment.
In this whole system, Adam fit weirdly, or — more accurately — refused to fit at all.
Gansey had found him, clicking with him in a way that definitely echoed a bigger fate. And yet he didn’t get to keep him, at all, no matter how much easier everything would be if Adam just let him. Rather, Gansey seem to be condemned to seeing Adam slip in and out of his grip, a constant exercise in finding and finding and insisting on not letting go completely.
Adam was at Monmouth now, final home to everything Gansey cared more about in the world, but he had already said, “Temporarily.”
“Just a few days, so that I can…” He had repeated, with the box of his scarce possessions Ronan had drove him to recover sitting on the floor, as precarious as him. The sentence trailed off into nothing, and it was infuriating to know how many unachievable things Adam wanted to fit in that just, in that few.
It was somewhat difficult to have him around like this — beaten, bruised, with damages that were likely to be permanent. Still, it was better than the alternative.
In the weird dance between Gansey’s need to care for what he loved and Adam’s steadfast unwillingness to be taken care of, it was usually Gansey that caved. The fact that Adam was caving now — temporarily, in the desperate effort of getting back to his feet — didn’t feel at all like a victory.
But Gansey did what he had to — what he could among the many things Adam could need — and brought him homeworks and assignments, left towels and beddings and spare clothes available, filled the fridge and tried to think of the way of making Adam forgo to keep track of any of these things.
It was late at night, somewhere between the second and the third day, when Adam came quietly in the open space, with an aura of partial reluctance that was enough to lift Gansey away from his books and papers. He was shirtless and appeared freshly patched up with the same medical supplies he held in his arms.
“I can come back later if you’re busy…” Adam said, tilting his head minutely towards the scholarly chaos.
“I’m not busy,” Gansey replied, trying not to rush excessively in both his words and getting up from the floor.
“I…” Adam started, then stopped, averting his gaze. When he spoke again, it was neat and measured, with a hint of nerves that shone through the slight drawl in his vowels. “I can’t change the patches on my back. Can you help me?”
It shouldn’t be such an herculean effort, and yet it was, with all the underlying shame that Gansey refused to address because he wanted to be constructive and that seemed to call for destruction.
“Of course, can we sit over here?” Gansey gestured at his bed, a bit helplessly, as the only other viable option was the chair of his deck and Gansey was guilty of having covered it in post-its.
“Sure, thanks,” Adam murmured, and went to sit down at the corner of the mattress, among unkempt sheets and some discarded clothing.
He left the supplies beside him, well within Gansey’s reach, and Gansey picked it up gingerly — rereading the prescriptions even though there he had already stole a look at them while they waited at the hospital. Adam watched him sideways, silent in an awkward way, with his bare back virtually at Gansey’s disposal — it felt like the trust of a wild animal, somehow.
As most wild things, the sight wasn’t pretty.
The skin on Adam’s back was of three or four different colours, small bruises and large bruises, at different depth and different spread of impact, mixed with points in which the skin had been cut by friction. It made Gansey’s stomach turn around a scream that he would never get out — not even, especially not with the way Adam was holding himself so carefully, his head tilted down.
Gansey toyed with the disinfectant, just one second, and then he started talking. “So, in that 1900 land registry document I found a reference to some earlier records, mid 1800, and I think we might be facing a change of landmarks in the borders, which would of course made our geography in old Virginia a bit funky…”
Under the avalanche of unwarranted chattering, Adam tensed even more, and then relaxed a bit with a sigh. He stayed silent for a long while — enough for Gansey to soften the patches with disinfectant — but then he started offering feedback in return.
It was better, like this. More familiar, less punishing.
Gansey peeled off two patches and Adam sunk a bit in his own shoulders, trailing off from his previous comment on minor river paths through the decades. The bruises underneath were predictably the worse, a deep purple of swollen skin that made Gansey afraid of even brushing against it while trying to clean.
But that was part of the responsibility of caring, and so Gansey rolled through the motions, resuming the chatter at the cost of it being one-sided just to give Adam something else to focus on, if he so wished.
“Big part done,” Gansey announced, when the pristine white of two patches covered Adam’s left side and a point around the centre of his back. He very pointedly refused to think about how many organs were in easy reach with hits landing there and there.
“Thank you,” Adam murmured, under his breath. His right shoulder twitched just a bit, as Gansey ran a hand over the surface of the patch to make sure it was smooth and adherent.
“You’re most welcome,” Gansey replied, keeping for himself three thousand more answers. “Do you really think a turrent could change path so markedly?”
Resuming the chatter was better, safer, as a complement for the anti-inflammatory cream that Gansey proceeded to apply. He rubbed at Adam’s skin slowly, with just the fingertip of his index, or sometimes the middle finger if he wanted to spread it to a wider area, and went about as carefully as he could about letting the cream absorb between touches.
Adam’s nape was exposed and he was much more silent now than he had been with the patches, his head lowered. Gansey kept talking, with less urgency, slightly distracted as well by the weird mixture of laboured strength and jutting bones that seemed to compose Adam’s body.
He heard him sigh, and his shoulder blades followed.
Sitting so close behind him, Gansey followed the movement with his eyes, and then with the back of two fingers — dry and cream-free — along the profile of the bone, the skin fairer than Adam was in the middle of the summer. Adam didn’t comment on it, or squirm away, so Gansey kept stroking lightly, a weird drive towards contact and affection that wasn’t necessarily the most familiar for him.
He kept spreading cream with one hands, at time, but even with the extensive collection of Adam’s bruises he was running out of spots to tend to. With his right hand, he kept caressing around, with no purpose more than contact.
Every once in a while, Adam shivered — time and again, as Gansey kept going.
He stroked down Adam’s spine, feeling the bumps of each vertebra against his knuckles. Adam’s next shiver followed the path of Gansey’s hand, shoulders jutting back just slightly.
“Sorry, are my hands cold?” Gansey asked, following a sudden doubt and yet not quite retracting his hands.
Adam shook his head, a subtle gesture at first, before he spoke. “No, you’re very warm.”
It was a low admission. Towards the end of the sentence, Adam’s voice dipped a bit, in the slightest of crack.
It settled in layers in Gansey’s brain, somewhat changing the very light of the room. He swallowed around the Oh that wanted to escape from his mouth, and just raised his hands again.
Touching felt more charged now, almost forbidden. But if there was one thing Gansey was sure of is that Adam would have shied away from any contact that was unwelcomed — now more than ever — and instead he didn’t even try to turn around, his head still lowered.
Gansey stroke along his back, once, than again, venturing broader until he could trace a path from Adam’s nape — and the little bump of his vertebrae jutting out because his head was lowered — all the way to the base of Adam’s spine, at the waist of the sweatpants he must have planned to wear to bed.
At the first full run, Adam stayed very still until the very end, when he exhaled in a slightly hiccupping way. Once more, and Gansey saw him arching along with the touch.
Gansey thinned his lips, feeling goosebumps rising in sympathy.
He grabbed at Adam at the end of the wave they traced together, without being able to help it. His right hand lingered at the centre of Adam’s back, between his shoulder blades, and the left one curled around his hips on the left side. His fingers ran along the protruding bone there and that, too, made Adam jump.
“I didn’t know you were so sensitive,” Gansey whispered, a constricting feeling around his throat.
Adam breathed out longer than he actually manage to inhale, uneven. “Yeah, me neither.”
His voice was so low, and yet Gansey felt it in his bones. Suddenly, he was very, very glad Ronan wasn’t home today and Noah had decided, so to speak, to not manifest.
The reality of what was happening was laid out between them, and still Gansey regained his touches — all along Adam’s back, almost featherlike on the patches, delicate around the exposed bruises, and just gentle anywhere else.
“Mnhgh…”
Gansey desperately wanted to know what face could possibly be making, groaning and shivering for it, but the after-effect of whatever tumult Gansey might be causing was best seen from behind him — that was, if Gansey wanted to keep going.
It wasn’t even really a questions.
He dug his fingers with more purpose, stroking along Adam’s hip bones until Adam arched again, and then — so very slowly — he slid his hand past the fabric, right inside Adam’s boxers.
The first impression was just of warmth. Next, it was the evidence that Adam was very hard.
“Ga-ah…Gansey, fuck…”
Hearing his name broken up in a moan didn’t exactly smother Gansey’s impulse.
He pressed his cheek on Adam’s shoulders — just his cheek, no lips, nosing delicately around the span of it — and Adam keened a bit.
It was easy, and quite rewarding, to touch him. Back and front, and front, and back, new touches on an unfamiliar body on an almost familiar angle. Gansey could only dream to know how to do it best, but as it was everything seemed to be good. Adam choked a bit on his own sounds, arching and canting at what felt like Gansey’s whim, guiding what was undeniably pleasure.
“Fuck,” Adam stressed again, all shivery.
He reached up with one hand to grab onto the bent of Gansey’s elbow and his head lifted up, pressing on Gansey’s shoulder behind him.
With one hand in the middle of his back and another one jerking him off, Gansey felt Adam coming as if it was his own body — a single shiver going all the way down, breaking into release and spreading like a seizure.
From his angle, it was the most Gansey had seen of him since Gansey had sat down on his bed — his profile flushed, a bit overwhelmed by this strange spiral they had precipitated it.
Gansey let go of Adam’s cock, fingers slick with residues of medicine, and wet with Adam’s come, and slid his hand out of Adam’s sweatpants.
Silently, Adam closed his eyes. With his body pressing back against Gansey’s hand, the exhale he let go after actually relaxed him.
It was glorious to witness.
He caressed his back until all the goosebumps smoothened, and then some more.
At the end, it was Adam that straightened up. it was delicate, careful, and Gansey still feared what could come next.
“I’m…” Another false start. He collected his prescriptions back into his arms, trying to fill the silence. “Let me leave this in Noah’s room and…change…then you can show me the documents.”
“Yes!” Gansey piped up before even fully processing, relief flooding through him. “Yes, of course.”
Adam looked at him only at that, wild and vivid. “Thanks,” he said again.
Then he made to step away from the open space, leaving Gansey only to wonder, like an afterthought, if he would manage to take care of his own erection in the short time that Adam’s absence conceded him.
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