Sometimes. And my father likes to point out that business deals are often decided on the golf course and only finalized in the boardroom.
[There's a slight shift in how he enunciates for a moment, like he's imitating his father, but it's honestly a bit too much like doing an impression of himself- hard to tell the difference if you've never met the man. But point being was that Gansey had to learn to play, even if he had little interest in it. It was one of those skills that was useful largely in saying you knew how, like playing the piano and crossword puzzles.
Kavinsky might be rich, but it had always seemed like he must have come from a different culture, a different set of expectations. A youth that didn't involve golf and learning the piano and lawn parties with boring politicians. But maybe he was wrong; he'd misjudged him before.
And then the entire conversion seems lost and unimportant, because there's that way that Kavinsky laughs, his voice low, and it sounds downright sultry. He almost thinks he's imagining it, but then the other boy traces a fingertip against his face, the lightest sort of touch. Gansey lets him, feels almost light-headed, like he'd forgotten to breathe. He doesn't pull away, doesn't ask him what he's doing. He leans into it, just a little, a flutter as he looks at the other boy.
You'd think the mention of wanting to beat his face in would ruin the moment, but it doesn't. Instead it's the ending, where he says that he'd rather do other things that Gansey finds himself fastening onto. His voice is neither icy nor overly polite when he finds his words.]
What sort of things?
[His voice sounds rough and flushed, even to his own ears, and he's glad that he's leaning against the pool table, because he feels unsteady. Maybe Kavinsky is just doing it for a laugh, but he's gorgeous, and he can't help letting it get under his skin. He's looking at him, a different sort of focus to it, the way that he lit up in the face of secrets and wonders.
Maybe it would be easy to say that Kavinsky was seducing him, but the truth was something more mutual. Because Gansey knew what he was doing when he asked the question, knew this was trouble and that he was following anyway. He wanted to, even if he hadn't quite admitted that to himself. But it was true anyway. His dark eyes were captivating, and he'd never had this sort of attention focused on him before.]
no subject
[There's a slight shift in how he enunciates for a moment, like he's imitating his father, but it's honestly a bit too much like doing an impression of himself- hard to tell the difference if you've never met the man. But point being was that Gansey had to learn to play, even if he had little interest in it. It was one of those skills that was useful largely in saying you knew how, like playing the piano and crossword puzzles.
Kavinsky might be rich, but it had always seemed like he must have come from a different culture, a different set of expectations. A youth that didn't involve golf and learning the piano and lawn parties with boring politicians. But maybe he was wrong; he'd misjudged him before.
And then the entire conversion seems lost and unimportant, because there's that way that Kavinsky laughs, his voice low, and it sounds downright sultry. He almost thinks he's imagining it, but then the other boy traces a fingertip against his face, the lightest sort of touch. Gansey lets him, feels almost light-headed, like he'd forgotten to breathe. He doesn't pull away, doesn't ask him what he's doing. He leans into it, just a little, a flutter as he looks at the other boy.
You'd think the mention of wanting to beat his face in would ruin the moment, but it doesn't. Instead it's the ending, where he says that he'd rather do other things that Gansey finds himself fastening onto. His voice is neither icy nor overly polite when he finds his words.]
What sort of things?
[His voice sounds rough and flushed, even to his own ears, and he's glad that he's leaning against the pool table, because he feels unsteady. Maybe Kavinsky is just doing it for a laugh, but he's gorgeous, and he can't help letting it get under his skin. He's looking at him, a different sort of focus to it, the way that he lit up in the face of secrets and wonders.
Maybe it would be easy to say that Kavinsky was seducing him, but the truth was something more mutual. Because Gansey knew what he was doing when he asked the question, knew this was trouble and that he was following anyway. He wanted to, even if he hadn't quite admitted that to himself. But it was true anyway. His dark eyes were captivating, and he'd never had this sort of attention focused on him before.]