[ Jesse does the same - gingerly smears the mess away from his stomach with his hand and wipes it on the ground. A lingering scent of semen hangs in the air. He tugs his shirt down and silently shifts on the ground to tug his jeans up properly before buttoning them. He should be reassuring Ronan that it's not his fault; it's not like conversation earlier in the night isn't starting to bounce around in Jesse's mind. How, though, can he say No, I used you to this innocent boy? He can't.
Spying the baggy of whatever's left of the 8-ball, Jesse subtly reaches for it and guiltily pushes it into his pocket. Then he's slowly pushing himself to his feet. Dirt and small bits of rock cling to the back of his shirt. Looking down at Ronan, Jesse isn't sure if he should hold a hand out to help him up, or... He feels like he should, because he would if he'd just fucked a chick. He feels like he should know what to say, too. This is completely uncharted territory.
After a moment's hesitation, he holds out his hand. ]
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Spying the baggy of whatever's left of the 8-ball, Jesse subtly reaches for it and guiltily pushes it into his pocket. Then he's slowly pushing himself to his feet. Dirt and small bits of rock cling to the back of his shirt. Looking down at Ronan, Jesse isn't sure if he should hold a hand out to help him up, or... He feels like he should, because he would if he'd just fucked a chick. He feels like he should know what to say, too. This is completely uncharted territory.
After a moment's hesitation, he holds out his hand. ]