![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
I still have major catching up to do on fic reading, but I'm making progress, so I figure I'll post this now anyway.
Title: Beer and Sympathy
Author: Clay
Pairings: Ryan/Drew, unrequited Ryan/Colin, background Colin/Greg
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Sometimes you just have to move on.
Author's Notes: I asked Indy for a challenge, and I got one. ^_~ This was written for Colette for the Summer Fic Challenge. I hope she liked it.
Word Count: 5,697
He’s always smiling. Always. Even now, when Greg and I are beating him, hands down, and even Colin, who folded ages ago, is openly mocking his cards, there Drew sits, three sad chips stacked neatly before him, grinning like a fool. He lifts his beer to his lips and then laughs, eyes squeezed tightly shut, when Colin leans close to whisper in his ear. Foam sprays over the table, and Drew lifts a hand to swipe at his mouth, still laughing as he stutters out an apology.
Greg cringes, scooting his chair back from the table. “Hey!” he practically shouts, making quite the show of wiping his cards clean on his jacket. Drew is still laughing, and Greg just smiles and shakes his head. “Yeah, yeah,” he grouses good-naturedly. “Laugh it up. Now show us your cards.”
Colin and I are chuckling, too, because Drew’s laugh is infectious. His eyes sparkle in the dim, clean light of the hotel room, and he winks at Greg suggestively.
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
“Oh, really,” Greg drawls, giving Drew a smirk before spreading his cards before him. “Three queens. What do you got?”
Colin watches them intently and, almost unconsciously, reaches across the table to snatch one of Greg’s cigarettes. It doesn’t even occur to me until he’s lighting it that Colin, as far as I’ve been told, hasn’t smoked in years. But it seems like a good idea, and Greg and I both go for our own packs a moment later while Drew starts to laugh again.
“I got nothing,” he admits, still smiling, and tosses his own cards down.
Greg lets out a triumphant laugh and reaches for the chips before remembering me. He looks to me curiously, and I have him beat – badly – but I honestly don’t care, so I shrug and slip my own cards onto the table, face down.
“Take it,” I tell him, putting on my best dejected face.
Greg is snickering to himself, and the sound of chips clicking against each other puts me even more at ease as I find my own beer and lift it to my lips, tipping the bottle high to get the last, lukewarm drops.
“Another hand?” Drew asks happily, collecting the cards, and Greg snorts.
“Dude, you don’t have any money left,” he points out.
He and Drew argue the finer points of Drew’s millionaire status versus his lack of plastic poker chips, and I lift myself from my chair to search Drew’s kitchenette for more beer. I snatch one from the fridge and then lean back against the counter, watching the others over the half counter separating the two rooms. I have the lid off and the cool, bitter liquid on my tongue when Colin walks in. He’s carrying a good half dozen empty bottles, cleaning up like a fucking mother hen, and when I look over the counter again, I see that Drew and Greg are still mock arguing. The games are obviously over for the night, and that’s fine with me.
The clock on the wall tells me it’s nearly 1:00 am, and I’m pretty much done for the night. I was done three hands back, but the others seemed to have endless reserves of energy, and I’ve never been one to give up so easily. Still, I’m no spring chicken; none of us are, and the traveling combined with tonight’s show combined with the drinking is starting to catch up with me.
In fact, I’m stifling a yawn as Colin passes me, the remains of Greg’s cigarette still dangling from his lips. He plucks it out and drops it in one of the bottles, swishing it around before settling the bottle atop the practically overflowing trash can.
“Hey,” I say suddenly, softly, grabbing his arm as he turns to head back to the others. Colin starts, and when he looks to me, I can’t quite read his expression. And that’s strange, but then, I can’t even remember the last time we saw each other, so I’m not overly concerned. “Want to get out of here?”
I know he knows exactly what I’m asking, and now, when I can clearly read the reluctance in his darkening gaze, it leaves me feeling slightly disconcerted.
Colin hesitates, gently removing his arm from my grasp. “Ryan,” he says softly, watching me. “I... Not– not tonight.”
I frown, but it slowly transforms into a smirk as I trail my fingers up his arm. “Old man too tired?” I joke.
He chuckles and shakes his head. “Uh, no. I–“ Colin sighs, then, and rubs the back of his neck. His eyes dart almost imperceptibly to the other room, to Greg and Drew, but he’s looking back at me a second later, the smile already falling from his lips.
“I have other obligations.”
I can only roll my eyes because I’ve heard it a thousand times before.
“Come on. Deb is three thousand–“
“No,” Colin says suddenly and far more harshly than I would have anticipated. He frowns deeply and then sighs, keeping our gazes locked. “No,” he repeats after a moment, much more gently. “I’m with Greg now.”
I can only stare at him for what must be a full minute before letting out a startled laugh and downing a good half of my beer. Colin looks over to Drew and Greg again, frowning still, but they’re still far too engrossed in their own conversation to pay us any mind.
“You’re fucking Greg?” I ask at last.
“I...” Colin sighs and shakes his head. “Yes. I am.”
I wish I could be angry. Part of me still subscribes to the idea that Colin is mine, but I know that’s not true, not anymore. I think I had his heart once, but Colin’s changed. Times have changed, and so have I.
“He actually returns my calls,” Colin says. He’s smiling slightly, and I’m sure he’s trying to be funny, but it doesn’t hurt any less. When he looks back to me, however, there’s a sadness in his eyes.
I nod, smiling myself, not even caring how plastic I’m sure it looks, and downing my beer. Greg and Drew are finishing up their conversation, finally realizing we’ve gone missing. Greg looks to us, to Colin, and Colin turns once more to go to him, but I take his arm again. My hold is loose, and he could pull away at any second, but he allows it, looking to me curiously.
“So I guess using you for sex is out of the question?”
It’s a joke – a bad one – and Colin just frowns again. When he looks at me now, I wonder if he thinks that’s all it ever was. I wouldn’t be surprised.
“I’m going to go now.”
“Wait.” His arm starts to slip from my grasp, but I exert the slightest pressure, holding on just tight enough to give him pause. I don’t know what I’m going to say to him, but he can’t leave yet, not when I feel so shitty. “Why?” I’m not quite sure what I’m asking, but luckily Colin does.
He extracts him arm and puts a hand on my shoulder, and his smile is slightly more genuine.
“I never made you happy,” he says, and then, “I was too good for you.”
Coming from any other person, it would sound pompous, but I like to think I still understand him, at least on some level, and I know what he means. And it’s true.
He watches me for just a moment longer and then leaves without another word, and all I can think is that I wish I’d brought my cigarettes into the kitchen, or hell, a fucking sledge hammer would suit my sudden need for self destruction even better. I can see the pack sitting innocently on the card table, but I don’t – can’t – go back in there just yet, so instead I fish another beer out of the fridge and turn away, drinking it slowly as I contemplate the marbled back splash.
The suite door opens and closes, Colin and Greg’s idle chatter cutting off abruptly, and still I wait, back to the room. Even when Drew finds me, I can’t turn around, and when I feel his hand on my back, a vague sign of comfort, I can only sigh.
“I’m sorry, man,” he says.
“Sorry?” I shoot back.
“Well, Greg told me–“
I laugh and turn to face Drew, settling my empty bottle in the sink. “They can do whatever they like.”
Drew frowns, watching me somberly, and I find the look doesn’t suit him at all. “Yeah, but–“
“No.” I hold up a hand and shake my head. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. He and I, we weren’t really compatible.”
“You weren’t?” he says, and if he’s laughing now, it’s out of complete disbelief.
But I mean it, and when I only watch him silently in return, the smile fades from his lips. Like I said, though, he’s always smiling, and a second later it’s back, and Drew’s shrugging, watching me curiously.
“Never would have thought it.”
He takes a step forward, brushing against me in a way that has me immediately thinking of Colin again, to get us both fresh beers. I’ve had too many tonight as it is, but I’m not in the mood to say no.
We drink in silence, and, I think, watching Drew as he finishes that beer and grabs yet another, that I’ve missed him. He reminds me of Colin sometimes, at least the way Colin used to be. He listens, and he doesn’t judge, but there is a difference. These days, Colin only smiles when he’s on stage.
Or maybe he just doesn’t smile for me anymore.
“Where did I go wrong?” I ask suddenly.
Drew is beside me now, leaning back against the sink, eyes on the table and cards spread haphazardly over the polished wood. He doesn’t say anything because he knows I need no prompting.
“I mean....” I gesture with the beer bottle at nothing in particular, eyes drawn to the golden liquid sloshing against the sides. The foam clings to the glass, sliding down sluggishly. “We were inseparable. When did that stop? When did he stop making me happy? And why can’t I make him happy anymore? And, God.” I snort and look to Drew. “Greg? How.... Greg is miserable. How could he possibly make Colin happy?” I’m not being fair, I know, but the image of them, of what they must be doing even as I speak, is far too vivid, and I think I might be sick.
Drew is watching me, his smile closer to a smirk just now. All he says before taking a gulp of beer and turning his eyes away is, “You’ve got to get out more often.”
I turn to him sharply. “What the hell does that mean?”
Drew chuckles and shrugs. “Greg isn’t miserable,” he says. He looks back to me, watching me intently, and now I want to slap the smug little smile off his lips. “Not anymore, at least. Things change. People change. I hate to tell you this, Ryan, but...” He turns away again, lifting the bottle to his lips once more. “...Greg isn’t you.”
I don’t even know what to say to that. I slam my bottle down on the counter and go back into the main room because I need to get away now. It occurs to me as I’m lifting my abandoned pack of cigarettes from the table, as Drew’s coming up behind me, his socked feet barely audible swishing over the carpet, that he’s right.
I can’t even remember the last time I held a decent conversation with Greg. I realize then that I don’t know him, not anymore. I don’t know any of them anymore. But tonight, when I actually stop and think about it, all I can remember about Greg is him smiling. The image has me feeling ill again, and I don’t know why, but I think it might have something to do with the fact that I’d spent so long secure in the knowledge that no matter how unhappy I was, how bitter I became, Greg would always be there, one step lower. And now here I am, alone on the bottom rung, looking up at the people I used to call my friends.
My hand is shaking as I slip a cigarette from my pack. Greg is off fucking Colin, making Colin happy, when I haven’t been able to do that in half a fucking decade, and it makes me want to hit him with my car if only to wipe the perpetual smirk off his lips.
“Where did I go wrong?” I ask Drew again, almost too low for myself to hear. I’m studying the circle of tobacco on the end of one of my American Spirits, and I hate them, suddenly, even though I know I’ll smoke it eventually, maybe when my hand is steady once more. But I hate them, and I wonder what Colin thinks about Greg having the balls to keep smoking real cigarettes.
This time Drew answers. He puts a hand on my back; it’s warm and solid, and more like a push than a condolence. I’m glad. I think if he tried to pity me now, I’d have to hit him.
“People grow apart,” Drew says softly but firmly. “I mean...” He laughs again, and I turn to him, and I think I might hit him anyway. “...can you imagine Colin at a strip club? Can you imagine Colin bringing Deb to a– no, no–“ He actually snorts now, waving a hand erratically. “Deb letting him go to a strip club? Seriously, he’s so whipped. He and Greg are perfect for each other.”
I know he’s trying to cheer me up, and I’ve stopped shaking, but I’m far from happy. His hand falls from my back, but he’s still smiling at me, just barely.
“Where does that leave me?” I ask.
“Hey,” he replies, shrugging and smiling a bit wider. “You’ve still got me.”
He doesn’t mean it that way, but it still sounds far too much like an invitation for comfort. I shake my head and push past him, back into the kitchen, but my beer is gone and the fridge is empty. I stare inside of it for half a minute trying to figure out where I can get more alcohol at 1:30 in the morning.
“If you want to get laid,” Drew says, coming up behind me yet again, “well, I’m sure we could find someone...”
I can only snort as I glance to him out of the corner of my eye. I release the refrigerator door and it shuts with a soft rush of air. “Not tonight, Drew.”
“It doesn’t have to be a female prostitute,” Drew says, misunderstanding me completely.
“No,” I laugh, and damn but it feels good. “I mean–“ I cut myself off because Drew is watching me so earnestly, and he’s actually listening, wanting to make this better, and I come back to his words from just a few minutes ago. It hits me that Drew might actually understand. I think to Colin, to the way he cared, he tried, but more often than not my wants and needs would leave him frustrated with confusion.
“You know what I want?” I place a hand on Drew’s shoulder, and Drew smiles again, and it makes me laugh. “I want to get stoned off my ass and fall asleep on the couch watching reruns of MASH. So come on. Let’s go find some beer.”
“Okay,” Drew says, and he’s laughing now. “Sure, man. Let me just find my shoes.”
The hotel bar won’t sell us any bottles, so we’re forced onto the streets. This quiet town we’ve somehow found ourselves in is dead at this early hour, but a 24 hour convenience store boasts a sale on some no name, piss water beer, so we make a bee line for it.
We head back to the hotel with something a little more pricey, but just as the building’s coming into view I find myself slowing. Eventually I stop and stand in the middle of the sidewalk, eyes turned upward at the few scant windows still illuminated.
Drew walks a few more paces and then throws me a look over his shoulder. “Yo, Ryan. You coming?”
“I can’t go back in there.”
Drew frowns deeply, shifting his hold on his six pack as he turns about, eyes large and sad. He takes the few steps back to me slowly, and the heaving of his chest is the only indication of the long, soft sigh he lets out.
“Come on, man,” he says, gently but firmly. “You won’t even see him. We’ll go straight to my room and pass out, and–“
“No! Drew–“ My hand flies up, gesturing erratically at the window, suddenly, frighteningly angry. “He’s with Greg! And I’m– fuck!” I need to do something, hurt something, and I heft my own container of beer, feeling the sharp cardboard edges sting my palms before I hurl it to the ground.
It crashes, crunching to the ground sickeningly, each bottle crushing the next as they all fight to occupy the same space. The thick, swirling glass bottom of one bottle shoots away, ricocheting off my sneaker and skittering into the street. The neck of another snaps as the entire bottle caves in on itself, and I wish, for just a moment, that it’s Greg’s neck. Beer rushes, dark in the night, pooling around my shoes and then trailing lazily into the cracks of the sidewalk, and then there’s nothing left but the faint hiss of foam and my own harsh breathing.
Drew says nothing for a long moment, and eventually my breathing slows until it’s almost back to normal. “Ryan...” Drew says then, once he’s sure I’ll actually listen.
I stare down at the mess I’ve made, at the glass glittering in the light of the street lamp, and let out a strangled, startled laugh as I run a hand through my hair.
“I can’t do this.”
I can barely speak above a whisper, even when I clear my throat and repeat myself. My other hand joins the first, and I fist both in my hair – hard – hoping the pain will distract me.
Drew shifts the six pack again and takes the final steps that have him toe to toe with me. Glass crunches beneath his shoes, and he lays a hand on my shoulder.
“Then we won’t. There’s other places to go. Maybe a bar. We’ll find some place and get your mind off this.”
I honestly don’t think it will help, but he’s trying, so I just nod and slowly unwind my hands from my hair.
“Yeah. All right,” I all but mutter. Drew moves slightly, giving my shoulder a brief squeeze; the glass crunches again, and I cringe. “I’m sorry about the beer.”
Drew waves a hand dismissively, and when I can finally meet his eyes, he’s smiling again. And, somehow, that makes everything better.
He shrugs. His hand slides down my back, his palm soft and warm where is rests just between my shoulder blades, and he comes to stand beside me. “There’s always more beer, man. Now. Where to?”
It’s nearing two o’clock when we eventually decide that more people isn’t what I need just then. Or rather, I decide. Drew thinks that enough silence for me to be alone with my thoughts is a very bad idea, but he goes along with it with yet another smile on his face.
A block from the hotel there’s a small park. A large, cast iron gate surrounds it, locked. It’s easy enough to scramble overtop, however, even if the exertion leaves me breathless for just a moment. I drop to the other side, slightly flushed, and Drew tosses me the remaining beers before starting his own climb. It takes him a little longer, but the ex marine in him refuses to quit, and soon he’s standing beside me, panting and red faced but smiling nonetheless.
“Dude,” he gasps out, bending low, hands braced on his knees. “I’m too old for this shit. Give me a beer.”
I laugh, softly, and slip him a beer, which he takes gratefully, straightening up. He presses the cool bottle to his cheek and sighs nearly orgasmically, and I only laugh harder. He shoves the bottle under his t-shirt, using the cloth to help him twist free the cap and then gives a startled yelp, jerking the bottle back into the air. Foam springs up, spilling around the edges, over his fingers, trailing down his arm and splattering at his feet.
“Shit ”
He’s laughing so hard, I’m afraid he might pee himself, dancing back to avoid being splashed, and, watching him, I’m not sure I’m ever going to catch my breath. I curl one arm around the case of beer, hugging it to me and lifting the other hand to rub at my eyes.
“What the fuck!” Drew manages around a laugh, lifting his now half full bottle up for inspection. “We’re just keen on wasting beer tonight, aren’t we?”
“You could suck it off the ground,” I tell him, pulling the hand from my eyes.
I start, then, at the sight before me, sucking in a small, nearly inaudible breath through my teeth.
Drew isn’t looking at me now, so I have plenty of time to compose myself, but even after he meets my eyes, even after we talk, after we make the decision to move deeper into the park to look for a relatively comfortable place to drink the remains of our beer, the image stays in my mind.
Maybe it’s because I’d been so hoping to get laid tonight; I’m not sure, but when I’d looked up, Drew had had his arm raised, the beer held aloft over his head. A shining trail of beer stands out against the smooth, pale skin of his inner arm, and as I watch, his tongue darts out, small and pink, swiping a path from elbow to wrist, and in my mind, it sure as hell isn’t his arm he’s licking.
The image is still in my mind when we settle down on a set of swings a few minutes later in a clearing in the midst of a grove of thick oaks. The beer gets set between us, shoved into the sand, and I fetch one for myself before easing onto the cracked black rubber of the swing. The supporting chain is strangely cold to the touch, but I still loop an arm around it as I drink, leaning into it and swaying gently as the swing demands.
The beer has calmed somewhat since its trip over the gate, and when it foams and slips over my hand, it’s less of an eruption and more of an afterthought, the beer dripping down my fingers, sliding over the side of the bottle to drip into the sand at my feet. It leaves a dark, wet circle, and I shift the beer to my other hand and stick two fingers in my mouth, sucking lightly as I watch the circle grow.
Drew makes a small sound in the back of his throat, and I turn to him curiously, pulling the digits from my mouth. “What? Did you say something?”
Drew is watching me intently, but at my words he smiles slightly and then shrugs. “It’s nice here,” he says. He’s rolling his empty bottle between his hands, slumped forward, elbows on his knees. He twists the bottle into the sand beside him, and I think that he sounds subdued.
He takes another beer, and when he opens it, foam fizzes over his finger tips. He rubs them together thoughtfully, the smile on his lips just barely there now, almost a trick of the light. He looks so strangely young right now that it makes me smile.
“Thanks,” I tell him suddenly, and Drew looks to me, startled.
“For what?”
“For this,” I say, gesturing to the park in general with my beer bottle. “For putting up with me tonight.”
Drew gives me an odd little smile, one that doesn’t quite look right on his lips. “It was my pleasure, man.”
We fall silent, then, just drinking and thinking and watching the bats swoop through the wide tree trunks. I smoke a cigarette and then another, and I think that I couldn’t have imagined this night turning out better. I finish one beer and then reach for another, handing a fresh one, the last one, to Drew.
He takes it, his hand lingering on mine just a touch too long, and he’s wearing that odd, slightly off smile once more, but I can’t see his eyes in the darkness. His fingers brush my knuckles; I’m drawn to his hand, to the delicate, almost feminine quality of it, and I’m not sure what I think of that, but right now his touch is more than welcome. I look away before I can let that thought go any further.
“Do you miss him?” Drew asks suddenly. I can feel his eyes on me, but I don’t dare look back.
“Who?”
Drew chuckles softly. “Who?” he mimics. “Colin, of course.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t even thought of Colin since before we’d entered the park, but now I do, and I find that it doesn’t hurt as much as I’d feared. “Honestly?” I reply after a moment, turning to face Drew once more. “No. Not really. I mean–“ I try to find words that aren’t a flat out a lie. “I do, but it’s not– it’s not the same anymore. It’s a matter of pride, I think. He was mine, and now he’s not, but really, if I actually think about it, that’s okay.”
Drew’s quiet for a moment, and when he comes back, the disbelief in his voice is overwhelming. “It is?”
“Yeah,” I say, laughing. I turn away again and take a sip of my beer. I can’t help that the smile falls from my lips then or that I’m unconsciously peering over the tree tops in the direction of our hotel.
“It’s just strange, you know?” I continue after I collect my thoughts, softer now. “I got so used to him being mine. But you were right.”
“I was?”
There’s still so much disbelief in his tone, and I find myself smiling around the mouth of my bottle. I nod and look to him. “Things change. People change. And...” I stretch, my spine popping and protesting from having spent too long slumped in my seat. I stand and shove my bottle into the sand before coming to stand before Drew. He looks up at me, the moonlight shining in his eyes. “...sometimes you just have to move on.”
“Ryan? What–“
Before he can get another word out, I’m dropping to my knees. I can feel the sand, wet with beer, soaking into my jeans, the grains harsh and unyielding, but I don’t let it bother me.
I lay my hands on his knees, smiling up at him, and Drew only sucks in a quick, soft breath. His eyes are dark and wide, his lips slightly parted. He’s no idiot; he knows exactly what I’m doing. He tenses, fingers clenching on the chains when I slide my hands up his thighs, and I’m not sure he wants this, but I need it, and no man would ever turn down a mouth on his dick.
“Ryan...” he says, weakly now, when I press my hands to the juncture of his hips and thighs and slide one thumb along the seam of his fly. It’s the barest hint of a warning, and yet he leans back slightly, hands loosening on the thick, metal links, inviting me.
I take the hint and move to unbutton his jeans, slide down the zipper, the quiet grate of metal suddenly, startling loud, and Drew continues to watch me, his tongue darting out to wet his lips in anticipation.
When I pull him free, he’s still soft, and I weigh him in my hand, watching, fascinated, as I feel him harden slowly and lift away from my palm. Teasingly I trace a thick vein along the underside of his shaft, and Drew closes his eyes, head tilting back slightly.
“Oh...” he murmurs, quietly and slightly more high pitched than I would have expected, and I feel myself responding, my cheeks growing warm.
There’s something intriguing about this, something erotic beyond the simple fact of an erect penis in my hand. It’s Drew’s dick, and sure I’d seen it a dozen times before, but there’s something fundamentally different about a covert glance in a dressing room compared to this, to coaxing him until he’s hard and panting, studying the flexing of his wrists, hands clenching and unclenching on the chain, or the way a clear drop of precum seeps from his slit when I squeeze his cock just so.
He’s not as long or as thick as Colin, but he’s gorgeous, unblemished with a shock of dark blond curls at the base and thick, heavy balls that I can’t help but take in my other hand as I continue to brush the tips of my fingers along the length of his erection, tucked tight against his stomach. I lean forward, breathing in deeply before laying the flat of my tongue against the dip between his testicles, tasting the sweat and the skin before traveling up, slowly, feeling each ridge of his shaft, the soft, smooth head and then tonguing the slit, and fuck, he tastes wonderful. He’s not sweet, but he lacks the bitterness of nicotine, and I take the crown into my mouth, sucking lightly, hoping for more.
“Fuck, Ryan...” Drew says, the words just barely audible.
I smile around his cock and raise my eyes to his. Drew gives a little jerk, his eyes fluttering closed, and I love the fact that just the sight of me here and now gets to him like that. I can’t even remember the last time I had that affect on Colin.
I go back to work then, taking him further and further down my throat with each subsequent bob of the head. I’m sure I could take him in up to the hilt with ease, but it’s been a while, and besides, I want to take this slowly.
I slide off him, ease up until he’s resting lightly against my lips, and Drew fucking whimpers.
“Don’t worry,” I say, my breath brushing the head of his cock and giving him a shit eating grin when he lets out a low, soft grunt. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I want to go slow, I do, but when I take him back in my mouth, sucking just a little harder, moving just a little faster, he makes these sounds that I can’t even identify that go straight to my dick, and his hand, fingers curling in my hair, is soft but insistent.
I need to get this done now because, suddenly, I want a hell of a lot more from him than just this.
I finish him off in short order, leaving him half bent, panting and murmuring obscenities. I almost laugh at the sight, pleased, and get back to my feet, licking my lips and then reaching forward to clutch the support chains, my hands just above his.
Drew looks up at me; he’s still trying to catch his breath, and it only makes me smile wider as I lean down and kiss him. His lips, like the rest of him, are incredibly soft, inviting, and I think I could get used to this.
“I want to fuck you,” I tell him when I’ve pulled away, my mouth against his cheek.
Drew shivers. He tilts his head down, and I’m sure he’s looking at the way my erection strains my jeans, and I’m positive he’s thinking, like me, that it’s going to take a hell of a lot more than spit and high hopes to keep me from hurting him.
Still, he nods and meets my eyes again. There’s still the tiniest bit of fear in his, and I wonder, then, if he’s ever been with a man before, but I’m hard and he’s willing, and I’ll worry about that later.
“Let’s...” he says and then swallows. “My room.”
I laugh, seeing him so seemingly innocent, and nod in return. “Exactly what I was thinking.”
I step back and reach out a hand, and he takes it, letting me help him to his feet before he collects himself.
We walk back to the gate in silence, and we might be a little tipsy because it takes us twice as long to climb over this time around. I look to him as we’re approaching the hotel, wondering a little at how it doesn’t look quite so foreboding now, but Drew’s eyes are on the sidewalk in front of him, hands shoved in his pockets.
I smile and lay a hand on his back. “Drew?”
He looks up to me, startled.
“Thank you,” I say. Drew smiles slightly, and I continue. “For tonight, I mean. You really made me feel, well...” I laugh again, shaking my head. “...good.”
Drew snorts, watching me curiously. “And unless I’ve totally misunderstood you, I’m gonna make you feel a whole lot better once we get back inside.”
I chuckle, and my hand slips down his back until I’m just caressing his ass. He tenses a little, but he doesn’t look away, and the smile doesn’t leave his lips.
“I mean it,” I tell him. “Thank you.”
“No problem, man,” he says, relaxing slightly, keeping his eyes on mine.
I can see it in his eyes; he’s wondering just what tonight means, where this is all going to lead. He doesn’t ask, though, and I’m glad. I have no idea myself.
But I want to find out.
Title: Beer and Sympathy
Author: Clay
Pairings: Ryan/Drew, unrequited Ryan/Colin, background Colin/Greg
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Sometimes you just have to move on.
Author's Notes: I asked Indy for a challenge, and I got one. ^_~ This was written for Colette for the Summer Fic Challenge. I hope she liked it.
Word Count: 5,697
He’s always smiling. Always. Even now, when Greg and I are beating him, hands down, and even Colin, who folded ages ago, is openly mocking his cards, there Drew sits, three sad chips stacked neatly before him, grinning like a fool. He lifts his beer to his lips and then laughs, eyes squeezed tightly shut, when Colin leans close to whisper in his ear. Foam sprays over the table, and Drew lifts a hand to swipe at his mouth, still laughing as he stutters out an apology.
Greg cringes, scooting his chair back from the table. “Hey!” he practically shouts, making quite the show of wiping his cards clean on his jacket. Drew is still laughing, and Greg just smiles and shakes his head. “Yeah, yeah,” he grouses good-naturedly. “Laugh it up. Now show us your cards.”
Colin and I are chuckling, too, because Drew’s laugh is infectious. His eyes sparkle in the dim, clean light of the hotel room, and he winks at Greg suggestively.
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
“Oh, really,” Greg drawls, giving Drew a smirk before spreading his cards before him. “Three queens. What do you got?”
Colin watches them intently and, almost unconsciously, reaches across the table to snatch one of Greg’s cigarettes. It doesn’t even occur to me until he’s lighting it that Colin, as far as I’ve been told, hasn’t smoked in years. But it seems like a good idea, and Greg and I both go for our own packs a moment later while Drew starts to laugh again.
“I got nothing,” he admits, still smiling, and tosses his own cards down.
Greg lets out a triumphant laugh and reaches for the chips before remembering me. He looks to me curiously, and I have him beat – badly – but I honestly don’t care, so I shrug and slip my own cards onto the table, face down.
“Take it,” I tell him, putting on my best dejected face.
Greg is snickering to himself, and the sound of chips clicking against each other puts me even more at ease as I find my own beer and lift it to my lips, tipping the bottle high to get the last, lukewarm drops.
“Another hand?” Drew asks happily, collecting the cards, and Greg snorts.
“Dude, you don’t have any money left,” he points out.
He and Drew argue the finer points of Drew’s millionaire status versus his lack of plastic poker chips, and I lift myself from my chair to search Drew’s kitchenette for more beer. I snatch one from the fridge and then lean back against the counter, watching the others over the half counter separating the two rooms. I have the lid off and the cool, bitter liquid on my tongue when Colin walks in. He’s carrying a good half dozen empty bottles, cleaning up like a fucking mother hen, and when I look over the counter again, I see that Drew and Greg are still mock arguing. The games are obviously over for the night, and that’s fine with me.
The clock on the wall tells me it’s nearly 1:00 am, and I’m pretty much done for the night. I was done three hands back, but the others seemed to have endless reserves of energy, and I’ve never been one to give up so easily. Still, I’m no spring chicken; none of us are, and the traveling combined with tonight’s show combined with the drinking is starting to catch up with me.
In fact, I’m stifling a yawn as Colin passes me, the remains of Greg’s cigarette still dangling from his lips. He plucks it out and drops it in one of the bottles, swishing it around before settling the bottle atop the practically overflowing trash can.
“Hey,” I say suddenly, softly, grabbing his arm as he turns to head back to the others. Colin starts, and when he looks to me, I can’t quite read his expression. And that’s strange, but then, I can’t even remember the last time we saw each other, so I’m not overly concerned. “Want to get out of here?”
I know he knows exactly what I’m asking, and now, when I can clearly read the reluctance in his darkening gaze, it leaves me feeling slightly disconcerted.
Colin hesitates, gently removing his arm from my grasp. “Ryan,” he says softly, watching me. “I... Not– not tonight.”
I frown, but it slowly transforms into a smirk as I trail my fingers up his arm. “Old man too tired?” I joke.
He chuckles and shakes his head. “Uh, no. I–“ Colin sighs, then, and rubs the back of his neck. His eyes dart almost imperceptibly to the other room, to Greg and Drew, but he’s looking back at me a second later, the smile already falling from his lips.
“I have other obligations.”
I can only roll my eyes because I’ve heard it a thousand times before.
“Come on. Deb is three thousand–“
“No,” Colin says suddenly and far more harshly than I would have anticipated. He frowns deeply and then sighs, keeping our gazes locked. “No,” he repeats after a moment, much more gently. “I’m with Greg now.”
I can only stare at him for what must be a full minute before letting out a startled laugh and downing a good half of my beer. Colin looks over to Drew and Greg again, frowning still, but they’re still far too engrossed in their own conversation to pay us any mind.
“You’re fucking Greg?” I ask at last.
“I...” Colin sighs and shakes his head. “Yes. I am.”
I wish I could be angry. Part of me still subscribes to the idea that Colin is mine, but I know that’s not true, not anymore. I think I had his heart once, but Colin’s changed. Times have changed, and so have I.
“He actually returns my calls,” Colin says. He’s smiling slightly, and I’m sure he’s trying to be funny, but it doesn’t hurt any less. When he looks back to me, however, there’s a sadness in his eyes.
I nod, smiling myself, not even caring how plastic I’m sure it looks, and downing my beer. Greg and Drew are finishing up their conversation, finally realizing we’ve gone missing. Greg looks to us, to Colin, and Colin turns once more to go to him, but I take his arm again. My hold is loose, and he could pull away at any second, but he allows it, looking to me curiously.
“So I guess using you for sex is out of the question?”
It’s a joke – a bad one – and Colin just frowns again. When he looks at me now, I wonder if he thinks that’s all it ever was. I wouldn’t be surprised.
“I’m going to go now.”
“Wait.” His arm starts to slip from my grasp, but I exert the slightest pressure, holding on just tight enough to give him pause. I don’t know what I’m going to say to him, but he can’t leave yet, not when I feel so shitty. “Why?” I’m not quite sure what I’m asking, but luckily Colin does.
He extracts him arm and puts a hand on my shoulder, and his smile is slightly more genuine.
“I never made you happy,” he says, and then, “I was too good for you.”
Coming from any other person, it would sound pompous, but I like to think I still understand him, at least on some level, and I know what he means. And it’s true.
He watches me for just a moment longer and then leaves without another word, and all I can think is that I wish I’d brought my cigarettes into the kitchen, or hell, a fucking sledge hammer would suit my sudden need for self destruction even better. I can see the pack sitting innocently on the card table, but I don’t – can’t – go back in there just yet, so instead I fish another beer out of the fridge and turn away, drinking it slowly as I contemplate the marbled back splash.
The suite door opens and closes, Colin and Greg’s idle chatter cutting off abruptly, and still I wait, back to the room. Even when Drew finds me, I can’t turn around, and when I feel his hand on my back, a vague sign of comfort, I can only sigh.
“I’m sorry, man,” he says.
“Sorry?” I shoot back.
“Well, Greg told me–“
I laugh and turn to face Drew, settling my empty bottle in the sink. “They can do whatever they like.”
Drew frowns, watching me somberly, and I find the look doesn’t suit him at all. “Yeah, but–“
“No.” I hold up a hand and shake my head. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. He and I, we weren’t really compatible.”
“You weren’t?” he says, and if he’s laughing now, it’s out of complete disbelief.
But I mean it, and when I only watch him silently in return, the smile fades from his lips. Like I said, though, he’s always smiling, and a second later it’s back, and Drew’s shrugging, watching me curiously.
“Never would have thought it.”
He takes a step forward, brushing against me in a way that has me immediately thinking of Colin again, to get us both fresh beers. I’ve had too many tonight as it is, but I’m not in the mood to say no.
We drink in silence, and, I think, watching Drew as he finishes that beer and grabs yet another, that I’ve missed him. He reminds me of Colin sometimes, at least the way Colin used to be. He listens, and he doesn’t judge, but there is a difference. These days, Colin only smiles when he’s on stage.
Or maybe he just doesn’t smile for me anymore.
“Where did I go wrong?” I ask suddenly.
Drew is beside me now, leaning back against the sink, eyes on the table and cards spread haphazardly over the polished wood. He doesn’t say anything because he knows I need no prompting.
“I mean....” I gesture with the beer bottle at nothing in particular, eyes drawn to the golden liquid sloshing against the sides. The foam clings to the glass, sliding down sluggishly. “We were inseparable. When did that stop? When did he stop making me happy? And why can’t I make him happy anymore? And, God.” I snort and look to Drew. “Greg? How.... Greg is miserable. How could he possibly make Colin happy?” I’m not being fair, I know, but the image of them, of what they must be doing even as I speak, is far too vivid, and I think I might be sick.
Drew is watching me, his smile closer to a smirk just now. All he says before taking a gulp of beer and turning his eyes away is, “You’ve got to get out more often.”
I turn to him sharply. “What the hell does that mean?”
Drew chuckles and shrugs. “Greg isn’t miserable,” he says. He looks back to me, watching me intently, and now I want to slap the smug little smile off his lips. “Not anymore, at least. Things change. People change. I hate to tell you this, Ryan, but...” He turns away again, lifting the bottle to his lips once more. “...Greg isn’t you.”
I don’t even know what to say to that. I slam my bottle down on the counter and go back into the main room because I need to get away now. It occurs to me as I’m lifting my abandoned pack of cigarettes from the table, as Drew’s coming up behind me, his socked feet barely audible swishing over the carpet, that he’s right.
I can’t even remember the last time I held a decent conversation with Greg. I realize then that I don’t know him, not anymore. I don’t know any of them anymore. But tonight, when I actually stop and think about it, all I can remember about Greg is him smiling. The image has me feeling ill again, and I don’t know why, but I think it might have something to do with the fact that I’d spent so long secure in the knowledge that no matter how unhappy I was, how bitter I became, Greg would always be there, one step lower. And now here I am, alone on the bottom rung, looking up at the people I used to call my friends.
My hand is shaking as I slip a cigarette from my pack. Greg is off fucking Colin, making Colin happy, when I haven’t been able to do that in half a fucking decade, and it makes me want to hit him with my car if only to wipe the perpetual smirk off his lips.
“Where did I go wrong?” I ask Drew again, almost too low for myself to hear. I’m studying the circle of tobacco on the end of one of my American Spirits, and I hate them, suddenly, even though I know I’ll smoke it eventually, maybe when my hand is steady once more. But I hate them, and I wonder what Colin thinks about Greg having the balls to keep smoking real cigarettes.
This time Drew answers. He puts a hand on my back; it’s warm and solid, and more like a push than a condolence. I’m glad. I think if he tried to pity me now, I’d have to hit him.
“People grow apart,” Drew says softly but firmly. “I mean...” He laughs again, and I turn to him, and I think I might hit him anyway. “...can you imagine Colin at a strip club? Can you imagine Colin bringing Deb to a– no, no–“ He actually snorts now, waving a hand erratically. “Deb letting him go to a strip club? Seriously, he’s so whipped. He and Greg are perfect for each other.”
I know he’s trying to cheer me up, and I’ve stopped shaking, but I’m far from happy. His hand falls from my back, but he’s still smiling at me, just barely.
“Where does that leave me?” I ask.
“Hey,” he replies, shrugging and smiling a bit wider. “You’ve still got me.”
He doesn’t mean it that way, but it still sounds far too much like an invitation for comfort. I shake my head and push past him, back into the kitchen, but my beer is gone and the fridge is empty. I stare inside of it for half a minute trying to figure out where I can get more alcohol at 1:30 in the morning.
“If you want to get laid,” Drew says, coming up behind me yet again, “well, I’m sure we could find someone...”
I can only snort as I glance to him out of the corner of my eye. I release the refrigerator door and it shuts with a soft rush of air. “Not tonight, Drew.”
“It doesn’t have to be a female prostitute,” Drew says, misunderstanding me completely.
“No,” I laugh, and damn but it feels good. “I mean–“ I cut myself off because Drew is watching me so earnestly, and he’s actually listening, wanting to make this better, and I come back to his words from just a few minutes ago. It hits me that Drew might actually understand. I think to Colin, to the way he cared, he tried, but more often than not my wants and needs would leave him frustrated with confusion.
“You know what I want?” I place a hand on Drew’s shoulder, and Drew smiles again, and it makes me laugh. “I want to get stoned off my ass and fall asleep on the couch watching reruns of MASH. So come on. Let’s go find some beer.”
“Okay,” Drew says, and he’s laughing now. “Sure, man. Let me just find my shoes.”
The hotel bar won’t sell us any bottles, so we’re forced onto the streets. This quiet town we’ve somehow found ourselves in is dead at this early hour, but a 24 hour convenience store boasts a sale on some no name, piss water beer, so we make a bee line for it.
We head back to the hotel with something a little more pricey, but just as the building’s coming into view I find myself slowing. Eventually I stop and stand in the middle of the sidewalk, eyes turned upward at the few scant windows still illuminated.
Drew walks a few more paces and then throws me a look over his shoulder. “Yo, Ryan. You coming?”
“I can’t go back in there.”
Drew frowns deeply, shifting his hold on his six pack as he turns about, eyes large and sad. He takes the few steps back to me slowly, and the heaving of his chest is the only indication of the long, soft sigh he lets out.
“Come on, man,” he says, gently but firmly. “You won’t even see him. We’ll go straight to my room and pass out, and–“
“No! Drew–“ My hand flies up, gesturing erratically at the window, suddenly, frighteningly angry. “He’s with Greg! And I’m– fuck!” I need to do something, hurt something, and I heft my own container of beer, feeling the sharp cardboard edges sting my palms before I hurl it to the ground.
It crashes, crunching to the ground sickeningly, each bottle crushing the next as they all fight to occupy the same space. The thick, swirling glass bottom of one bottle shoots away, ricocheting off my sneaker and skittering into the street. The neck of another snaps as the entire bottle caves in on itself, and I wish, for just a moment, that it’s Greg’s neck. Beer rushes, dark in the night, pooling around my shoes and then trailing lazily into the cracks of the sidewalk, and then there’s nothing left but the faint hiss of foam and my own harsh breathing.
Drew says nothing for a long moment, and eventually my breathing slows until it’s almost back to normal. “Ryan...” Drew says then, once he’s sure I’ll actually listen.
I stare down at the mess I’ve made, at the glass glittering in the light of the street lamp, and let out a strangled, startled laugh as I run a hand through my hair.
“I can’t do this.”
I can barely speak above a whisper, even when I clear my throat and repeat myself. My other hand joins the first, and I fist both in my hair – hard – hoping the pain will distract me.
Drew shifts the six pack again and takes the final steps that have him toe to toe with me. Glass crunches beneath his shoes, and he lays a hand on my shoulder.
“Then we won’t. There’s other places to go. Maybe a bar. We’ll find some place and get your mind off this.”
I honestly don’t think it will help, but he’s trying, so I just nod and slowly unwind my hands from my hair.
“Yeah. All right,” I all but mutter. Drew moves slightly, giving my shoulder a brief squeeze; the glass crunches again, and I cringe. “I’m sorry about the beer.”
Drew waves a hand dismissively, and when I can finally meet his eyes, he’s smiling again. And, somehow, that makes everything better.
He shrugs. His hand slides down my back, his palm soft and warm where is rests just between my shoulder blades, and he comes to stand beside me. “There’s always more beer, man. Now. Where to?”
It’s nearing two o’clock when we eventually decide that more people isn’t what I need just then. Or rather, I decide. Drew thinks that enough silence for me to be alone with my thoughts is a very bad idea, but he goes along with it with yet another smile on his face.
A block from the hotel there’s a small park. A large, cast iron gate surrounds it, locked. It’s easy enough to scramble overtop, however, even if the exertion leaves me breathless for just a moment. I drop to the other side, slightly flushed, and Drew tosses me the remaining beers before starting his own climb. It takes him a little longer, but the ex marine in him refuses to quit, and soon he’s standing beside me, panting and red faced but smiling nonetheless.
“Dude,” he gasps out, bending low, hands braced on his knees. “I’m too old for this shit. Give me a beer.”
I laugh, softly, and slip him a beer, which he takes gratefully, straightening up. He presses the cool bottle to his cheek and sighs nearly orgasmically, and I only laugh harder. He shoves the bottle under his t-shirt, using the cloth to help him twist free the cap and then gives a startled yelp, jerking the bottle back into the air. Foam springs up, spilling around the edges, over his fingers, trailing down his arm and splattering at his feet.
“Shit ”
He’s laughing so hard, I’m afraid he might pee himself, dancing back to avoid being splashed, and, watching him, I’m not sure I’m ever going to catch my breath. I curl one arm around the case of beer, hugging it to me and lifting the other hand to rub at my eyes.
“What the fuck!” Drew manages around a laugh, lifting his now half full bottle up for inspection. “We’re just keen on wasting beer tonight, aren’t we?”
“You could suck it off the ground,” I tell him, pulling the hand from my eyes.
I start, then, at the sight before me, sucking in a small, nearly inaudible breath through my teeth.
Drew isn’t looking at me now, so I have plenty of time to compose myself, but even after he meets my eyes, even after we talk, after we make the decision to move deeper into the park to look for a relatively comfortable place to drink the remains of our beer, the image stays in my mind.
Maybe it’s because I’d been so hoping to get laid tonight; I’m not sure, but when I’d looked up, Drew had had his arm raised, the beer held aloft over his head. A shining trail of beer stands out against the smooth, pale skin of his inner arm, and as I watch, his tongue darts out, small and pink, swiping a path from elbow to wrist, and in my mind, it sure as hell isn’t his arm he’s licking.
The image is still in my mind when we settle down on a set of swings a few minutes later in a clearing in the midst of a grove of thick oaks. The beer gets set between us, shoved into the sand, and I fetch one for myself before easing onto the cracked black rubber of the swing. The supporting chain is strangely cold to the touch, but I still loop an arm around it as I drink, leaning into it and swaying gently as the swing demands.
The beer has calmed somewhat since its trip over the gate, and when it foams and slips over my hand, it’s less of an eruption and more of an afterthought, the beer dripping down my fingers, sliding over the side of the bottle to drip into the sand at my feet. It leaves a dark, wet circle, and I shift the beer to my other hand and stick two fingers in my mouth, sucking lightly as I watch the circle grow.
Drew makes a small sound in the back of his throat, and I turn to him curiously, pulling the digits from my mouth. “What? Did you say something?”
Drew is watching me intently, but at my words he smiles slightly and then shrugs. “It’s nice here,” he says. He’s rolling his empty bottle between his hands, slumped forward, elbows on his knees. He twists the bottle into the sand beside him, and I think that he sounds subdued.
He takes another beer, and when he opens it, foam fizzes over his finger tips. He rubs them together thoughtfully, the smile on his lips just barely there now, almost a trick of the light. He looks so strangely young right now that it makes me smile.
“Thanks,” I tell him suddenly, and Drew looks to me, startled.
“For what?”
“For this,” I say, gesturing to the park in general with my beer bottle. “For putting up with me tonight.”
Drew gives me an odd little smile, one that doesn’t quite look right on his lips. “It was my pleasure, man.”
We fall silent, then, just drinking and thinking and watching the bats swoop through the wide tree trunks. I smoke a cigarette and then another, and I think that I couldn’t have imagined this night turning out better. I finish one beer and then reach for another, handing a fresh one, the last one, to Drew.
He takes it, his hand lingering on mine just a touch too long, and he’s wearing that odd, slightly off smile once more, but I can’t see his eyes in the darkness. His fingers brush my knuckles; I’m drawn to his hand, to the delicate, almost feminine quality of it, and I’m not sure what I think of that, but right now his touch is more than welcome. I look away before I can let that thought go any further.
“Do you miss him?” Drew asks suddenly. I can feel his eyes on me, but I don’t dare look back.
“Who?”
Drew chuckles softly. “Who?” he mimics. “Colin, of course.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t even thought of Colin since before we’d entered the park, but now I do, and I find that it doesn’t hurt as much as I’d feared. “Honestly?” I reply after a moment, turning to face Drew once more. “No. Not really. I mean–“ I try to find words that aren’t a flat out a lie. “I do, but it’s not– it’s not the same anymore. It’s a matter of pride, I think. He was mine, and now he’s not, but really, if I actually think about it, that’s okay.”
Drew’s quiet for a moment, and when he comes back, the disbelief in his voice is overwhelming. “It is?”
“Yeah,” I say, laughing. I turn away again and take a sip of my beer. I can’t help that the smile falls from my lips then or that I’m unconsciously peering over the tree tops in the direction of our hotel.
“It’s just strange, you know?” I continue after I collect my thoughts, softer now. “I got so used to him being mine. But you were right.”
“I was?”
There’s still so much disbelief in his tone, and I find myself smiling around the mouth of my bottle. I nod and look to him. “Things change. People change. And...” I stretch, my spine popping and protesting from having spent too long slumped in my seat. I stand and shove my bottle into the sand before coming to stand before Drew. He looks up at me, the moonlight shining in his eyes. “...sometimes you just have to move on.”
“Ryan? What–“
Before he can get another word out, I’m dropping to my knees. I can feel the sand, wet with beer, soaking into my jeans, the grains harsh and unyielding, but I don’t let it bother me.
I lay my hands on his knees, smiling up at him, and Drew only sucks in a quick, soft breath. His eyes are dark and wide, his lips slightly parted. He’s no idiot; he knows exactly what I’m doing. He tenses, fingers clenching on the chains when I slide my hands up his thighs, and I’m not sure he wants this, but I need it, and no man would ever turn down a mouth on his dick.
“Ryan...” he says, weakly now, when I press my hands to the juncture of his hips and thighs and slide one thumb along the seam of his fly. It’s the barest hint of a warning, and yet he leans back slightly, hands loosening on the thick, metal links, inviting me.
I take the hint and move to unbutton his jeans, slide down the zipper, the quiet grate of metal suddenly, startling loud, and Drew continues to watch me, his tongue darting out to wet his lips in anticipation.
When I pull him free, he’s still soft, and I weigh him in my hand, watching, fascinated, as I feel him harden slowly and lift away from my palm. Teasingly I trace a thick vein along the underside of his shaft, and Drew closes his eyes, head tilting back slightly.
“Oh...” he murmurs, quietly and slightly more high pitched than I would have expected, and I feel myself responding, my cheeks growing warm.
There’s something intriguing about this, something erotic beyond the simple fact of an erect penis in my hand. It’s Drew’s dick, and sure I’d seen it a dozen times before, but there’s something fundamentally different about a covert glance in a dressing room compared to this, to coaxing him until he’s hard and panting, studying the flexing of his wrists, hands clenching and unclenching on the chain, or the way a clear drop of precum seeps from his slit when I squeeze his cock just so.
He’s not as long or as thick as Colin, but he’s gorgeous, unblemished with a shock of dark blond curls at the base and thick, heavy balls that I can’t help but take in my other hand as I continue to brush the tips of my fingers along the length of his erection, tucked tight against his stomach. I lean forward, breathing in deeply before laying the flat of my tongue against the dip between his testicles, tasting the sweat and the skin before traveling up, slowly, feeling each ridge of his shaft, the soft, smooth head and then tonguing the slit, and fuck, he tastes wonderful. He’s not sweet, but he lacks the bitterness of nicotine, and I take the crown into my mouth, sucking lightly, hoping for more.
“Fuck, Ryan...” Drew says, the words just barely audible.
I smile around his cock and raise my eyes to his. Drew gives a little jerk, his eyes fluttering closed, and I love the fact that just the sight of me here and now gets to him like that. I can’t even remember the last time I had that affect on Colin.
I go back to work then, taking him further and further down my throat with each subsequent bob of the head. I’m sure I could take him in up to the hilt with ease, but it’s been a while, and besides, I want to take this slowly.
I slide off him, ease up until he’s resting lightly against my lips, and Drew fucking whimpers.
“Don’t worry,” I say, my breath brushing the head of his cock and giving him a shit eating grin when he lets out a low, soft grunt. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I want to go slow, I do, but when I take him back in my mouth, sucking just a little harder, moving just a little faster, he makes these sounds that I can’t even identify that go straight to my dick, and his hand, fingers curling in my hair, is soft but insistent.
I need to get this done now because, suddenly, I want a hell of a lot more from him than just this.
I finish him off in short order, leaving him half bent, panting and murmuring obscenities. I almost laugh at the sight, pleased, and get back to my feet, licking my lips and then reaching forward to clutch the support chains, my hands just above his.
Drew looks up at me; he’s still trying to catch his breath, and it only makes me smile wider as I lean down and kiss him. His lips, like the rest of him, are incredibly soft, inviting, and I think I could get used to this.
“I want to fuck you,” I tell him when I’ve pulled away, my mouth against his cheek.
Drew shivers. He tilts his head down, and I’m sure he’s looking at the way my erection strains my jeans, and I’m positive he’s thinking, like me, that it’s going to take a hell of a lot more than spit and high hopes to keep me from hurting him.
Still, he nods and meets my eyes again. There’s still the tiniest bit of fear in his, and I wonder, then, if he’s ever been with a man before, but I’m hard and he’s willing, and I’ll worry about that later.
“Let’s...” he says and then swallows. “My room.”
I laugh, seeing him so seemingly innocent, and nod in return. “Exactly what I was thinking.”
I step back and reach out a hand, and he takes it, letting me help him to his feet before he collects himself.
We walk back to the gate in silence, and we might be a little tipsy because it takes us twice as long to climb over this time around. I look to him as we’re approaching the hotel, wondering a little at how it doesn’t look quite so foreboding now, but Drew’s eyes are on the sidewalk in front of him, hands shoved in his pockets.
I smile and lay a hand on his back. “Drew?”
He looks up to me, startled.
“Thank you,” I say. Drew smiles slightly, and I continue. “For tonight, I mean. You really made me feel, well...” I laugh again, shaking my head. “...good.”
Drew snorts, watching me curiously. “And unless I’ve totally misunderstood you, I’m gonna make you feel a whole lot better once we get back inside.”
I chuckle, and my hand slips down his back until I’m just caressing his ass. He tenses a little, but he doesn’t look away, and the smile doesn’t leave his lips.
“I mean it,” I tell him. “Thank you.”
“No problem, man,” he says, relaxing slightly, keeping his eyes on mine.
I can see it in his eyes; he’s wondering just what tonight means, where this is all going to lead. He doesn’t ask, though, and I’m glad. I have no idea myself.
But I want to find out.
Tags:
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
From:
no subject
Thanks again ^_~
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
And about the writing thing -- I'm trying. I really am. I think I'm still too tired and concerned about Riz to concentrate much, though. But I am trying.
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
Anyways this is a good fic and I enjoyed reading it in Ryan’s POV.
This part particularly stayed with me because it seems so true. “The image has me feeling ill again, and I don’t know why, but I think it might have something to do with the fact that I’d spent so long secure in the knowledge that no matter how unhappy I was, how bitter I became, Greg would always be there, one step lower. And now here I am, alone on the bottom rung, looking up at the people I used to call my friends.”
From:
no subject
I'm glad you liked it from Ryan's POV. ^_^ I actually tend to try and avoid his POV like the plague since I really don't think I understand what goes on in his head, but I think I might be getting the hang of it.
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject
From:
no subject