britomarts: (gansey)
[personal profile] britomarts
the "our moms are both running for president and we just got caught having sex in a coat closet" henry/gansey au that i wrote before TRK came out bc i was one of two people actively stanning henry/gansey at that point. incomplete.


Dick
Gansey
Gansey boy
RICHARD CAMPBELL GANSEY III
GANSEY
DICK
Come on soccer dad I know you’re online


✔ Seen at 7:16PM



Richard Gansey III drank, but he did not get drunk. This was a known fact. This was something that he prided himself in. He had no illusions about being above his teenage peers when it came to partying, but, well. He was far less likely to get into real trouble than say, his best friend, Ronan Lynch. Ronan, just for example, had a habit of getting wasted at a rate that Gansey was almost certain actually required the label alcoholism. He’d gotten better since he’d started dating Adam, but, well, that was an entirely different can of worms.

The point was that Gansey was not the kind to drink enough to make stupid decisions, and everyone knew it.

That was, he assumed, why he was not getting any sympathy from Blue Sargent now.

“I’m just trying to figure out,” she said, “how you managed to not notice that you were wearing his neon blue tie before you walked out of your coat closet of shame.”

He ignored her. He knew the rest of the internet, the rest of his friends, the rest of the world were all wondering the same thing. “I am going to die in this bed.” Gansey’s words were muffled, grumbled into the pillow that he had unsuccessfully been attempting to smother himself with. “Because I am never leaving it again.”

“I’m sure that won’t be a problem for Henry Cheng,” Blue said, voice wry and amused. He felt her sit down on the bed next to him, her knee knocking into his shoulder. He groaned at the name. “I can’t believe you hooked up with him.”

“That makes two of us, I’m sure.”

“Three. You, me, and America,“ Blue said, and Gansey tugged the pillow from under her to pull it over his ears, blocking out her voice, and his current reality, entirely.



PRESIDENTIAL KID SCANDAL: How’s That For Bi-Partisanship?



It didn’t start with Henry Cheng shoving Gansey against the wall of Gansey’s childhood bedroom, but there’s where most of their early nights tended to end up–with Henry’s teeth grazing Gansey’s throat and then his lips going over the same spots, his hands unbuttoning Gansey’s shirt with more finesse than Gansey would’ve thought him capable of.

The first time, Gansey hadn’t know who Henry was. He’d just been some weird (or attractive, or some combination of the two) kid smoking a joint out of Gansey’s window when Gansey had slipped away from one of his mother’s fundraisers to catch a breath of air.

He hadn’t known, when he’d ended up dizzy either from the heavy smell of smoke or the thrill of being so utterly un-Gansey-like while his mother seduced money out of every conservative in Virginia, that he was being seduced by the enemy.

He voiced that thought to Henry, once, the whole "sleeping with the enemy” bit, and Henry had laughed, a little obnoxious and ironic, and said, “I’m pretty sure neither of us is sleeping.”

And, well, Gansey couldn’t deny that it was true.



This presidential candidate’s son walked into a coat closet. You’ll never believe what happens next.



Gansey’s head was pillowed on his crossed arms on the dining room table when his sister finally found him. He’d managed to evade her for two whole days after the pictures hit the internet, thanks largely to both of them being swept up by separate PR specialists in order to run damage control.

He watched wordlessly as Helen walked over to him, her heels heavy on the hard wooden floor. He must have looked some kind of pathetic, because instead of berating him, she draped an arm around his shoulders and hugged him. She ruffled his hair before letting go. He lifted his head, giving her a soft small in spite of himself.

Helen sat down in the chair next to him, cupping her chin in her hand. They sat together in a companionable silence for a moment, and then Helen said, “I really thought it was going to be Parrish, personally.”

“Christ,” Gansey said, covering his face with his hands.

“This one’s hot, though,” Helen continued, more amused by the way Gansey was turning red than he thought she had the right to be. “And I’m sure the whole ‘sleeping with the enemy’ thing really amps that up.”

“I hate you,” Gansey muttered.

“I’ve seen some of his interviews. He seems…nice.”

“He’s not nice,” Gansey said, without heat. “Interesting, maybe. Active. Absurd.” Handsome. Infuriating.

Helen gave him a knowing look, and he leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest.

“This looks like shit for mom,” Helen said, finally getting to the point. “Not even the gay thing, exactly, but the ‘having sex in a coat closet with the democratic frontrunner’s son’ bit.”

“I know,” Gansey said. His mother’s publicist had said as much, as had the thinly veiled disappointment and frustration at his selfishness that he could read into his parents’ texts and voicemails.

“It’s probably best that you stop seeing him,” Helen said.

“I know.”

“Mom will find a way to spin it. I’ll find a way to spin it.” She gave him a long look, and then nudged his shoulder with hers. “This’ll be over in a few months, Dick, one way or the other.”



so does this mean that gansey and cheng are unknotting the tie instead of tying the knot

5,687 notes



Gansey put his hands to Henry’s chest, pushing him back gently. Henry made a noise of protest, moving to follow him and then stopping. Gansey’s mouth felt numb, almost, and he was sure he looked just as obscene as Henry and his rumpled shirt did. He opened his mouth to say something, to tell Henry exactly why this was so ridiculous, but just ended up staring at the other boy’s swollen bottom lip. Gansey had bitten him. He was pretty sure he had, anyway; lust had made the past few moments strangely hazy.

Gansey could hardly be blamed for not being able to control himself when Henry had been the one barge into his apartment, acting put upon because Gansey had avoided him. As it turned out, two weeks of not speaking had not made them at all less attracted to each other. “This is a bad idea,” he said unnecessarily, running a hand through his hair as if that would straighten it back out.

“It’s always been a bad idea,” Henry said, a hand curling around Gansey’s hip. Gansey looked up at him through half-lidded eyes as Henry’s thumb slipped up under his shirt, rubbing light circles into the skin of Gansey’s hip. “Your asshole friends just know about it now.”

“They’re not assholes,” Gansey said firmly. He considered the interactions that Blue, Adam, and Ronan had had with Henry in the past and pursed his lips. “That’s not the point. The point is that your mother is running for president, as is mine. The media isn’t–Jesus. Jesus.” Henry’s thumbnail had caught on Gansey’s skin, making him shudder. Henry smirked, looking delighted and far too pleased with himself. Gansey hated that his expression evoked a feeling of fondness instead of annoyance. He grabbed Henry’s wrist, moving his hand but not letting go.

He needed to be responsible, needed to do what was best for his family’s reputation. But he didn’t want to. Being around Henry had never made him feel like doing anything he didn’t want to. He let out a huff and knocked Henry backward again, less nice about it this time. “Bed,” he said, nodding in the direction of it.
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