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This is a very strange little story in my mind, and I'm not quite sure I like it. Also, it makes the Ryan/Greg shipper in me cry a little. And yes, I know, I'm far too behind on my reading, and I really wasn't supposed to be writing random things like this, but... *points at Zekkass* Blame her.
Title: 3 A.M.
Author: Clay
Pairings: Greg/Clive, Ryan/Greg/Clive, and mention of both Ryan/Colin and past Ryan/Greg
Rating: NC-17... I suppose.
Summary: Eh... the author’s notes explain it well enough, I think.
Author’s Notes: Written for Zekkass (who I'm starting to think of as my unofficial muse :P). She posted The LJ Markov Random Text Generator yesterday, and I tried it on my LJ and got the sentence: “I smirk back, but I like them both equal for the night.” It’s a mishmash of three different sentences, I believe, but it worked oddly well, and I was intrigued. Zekkass offered Ryan/Greg/Clive to explore it with, and the rest is history. Takes place some time during 10th season UK. Also, thanks to Lyndsey for her help, not to mention putting up with me while I was writing this. *smirks*
Word Count: 2,933
The cashier eyes us up like we’re a couple of teenagers rather than two middle aged men, but I just smile at him. A pack of Marlboros, a pint of orange juice and a jar of Nutella might not be the strangest purchase he’s ever had to ring up, but when it’s coming from two men in dark suits at three in the morning, I can see how he’d be curious.
So I make it worse.
I lean forward, bent at the waist, to fold my arms on the counter, leering at the young man. “Gonna ring us up, or are you just going to stare until the sun comes up?”
He starts. The worn plastic name tag on his chest tells me his name is Peter.
“Peter,” I say, and his eyes narrow. I want to laugh, but instead I unfold one arm and push the Nutella toward him. “Be a dear and scan these for us, would you? We have things to do.” He still doesn’t move; his mouth dips down in a scowl, and I wink. “Unless you were thinking of joining us, that is.”
That gets him. He tears his gaze away, snatching up the goods and ringing them up in short, jerky movements.
Suddenly hands alight on my hips, feather light. “Don’t tease the boy,” Clive says softly, amused. I can feel the heat of him standing just behind me, and it reminds me of why I’m so eager to get back to the hotel in the first place. Almost unconsciously I find myself pressing back against him, and Clive gives a low chuckle.
“Gregory...” he warns.
I just throw him a smirk over my shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “What? He could join us.” My smile widens a little, voice lowering. “Unless you want me all to yourself?”
Clive presses his fingers into my hips harder and then works his way under my jacket and shirt, which I’d untucked ages ago.
“Behave,” he says just above a whisper.
I know it’s the alcohol making him so affectionate in public, but I’ve had my fair share to drink as well, and I just enjoy the feel of his hands against my bare skin.
Clive’s not as tipsy as I’d like, however, I discover in the taxi during the ride back to the Sheraton. I dig through the plastic Circle K bag, pressed closer to Clive than he’s strictly comfortable with. He keeps shooting the driver looks, and when I twist open the Nutella and offer him a finger coated with nutty, creamy chocolate, he only puts a hand on my wrist, pushing me away gently.
“Not now, Greg,” he murmurs.
So I stick the finger in my own mouth, sucking it clean with a smirk, and Clive chuckles, shaking his head.
“You will be with death of me.”
This does nothing to deter me, and we’re both in high spirits when we step off the elevator, onto our floor. Each finger on my right hand is almost entirely covered in chocolate, and Clive’s told me no less than three times how disgusting and childish I’m being, but when we reach my room, and I lean back against the door, refusing to find my key for fear of ruining my pants, a fucking leer on my lips, Clive merely smirks back, leans forward to lick a trail up my middle finger and slips his hands into my pockets.
I suck in a soft breath, smiling at him lazily, and Clive laughs, sliding the key card from my pocket as he takes the finger fully into his mouth. I think I whimper, pressing back against the door, jutting my hips forward, continuing to laugh as his tongue folds around my finger, and he sucks hard.
There’s a sudden, nearly inaudible gasp from the far end of the hallway. I wouldn’t have heard it except for how quiet the corridor is in the wee hours of the morning, and it turns the sound into something closer to a death toll.
Clive and I jerk away from each other instantly, snapping our heads toward the sound, but it’s only Ryan, paused mid stride, eyes wide and staring.
A flush touches his cheeks, and even at a distance I can see that his eyes are red. He’s either been drinking or crying. Something tells me it’s both.
But he’s no longer my concern, so I rip my eyes away and fixate on the shoulder seam of Clive’s jacket.
“Ignore him,” I mutter, reaching out my clean hand to take the key back.
Not that Clive’s ever listened to me.
He moves the key just out of reach. “Good evening, Ryan,” he says, laying his free hand on my chest and holding me at bay. Ryan moves past without a word, heading to his own room, and after another moment Clive looks back to me. He’s fucking smirking, and I love the look on him. “Pleasant fellow,” he murmurs.
I laugh, because only Clive has the ability to make me forget about what I once had with Ryan, and lean forward to speak against his throat. “Fuck ‘im.”
Clive chuckles, sliding his hand up my chest and neck to tangle his fingers in my curls. “I thought that was over,” he jokes quietly.
I don’t want to remember, so I don’t respond. Clive turns his head, watching Ryan once more. His cheek brushes mine, and then he’s chuckling again.
“He’s watching us, you know.”
My eyes slide shut, but I need to see, so I open them again almost immediately, turning my head just enough to catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye. Clive’s right. Ryan is watching us, eyes narrowed, and it’s obvious he’s heard every word we’ve said. He looks like he wants to say something, but I pray he keeps his mouth shut; it’s been years, but the sound of his voice still gets to me like nothing else, and I want to concentrate on Clive tonight.
I’m sure Clive knows all this; he can read me better than anyone I’ve ever known. I’m also sure, when he opens his mouth, eyes still on Ryan, and says, “He could join us if you like,” that he doesn’t give half a damn. He likes to push my buttons, and that’s one of the things I like best about him, but right now it’s less than welcome.
Ryan scowls deeply, and I want to look away, but I can’t. He’s fingering his key cared, and I wonder if we’re in the same predicament.
Clive’s fingers twist in my hair, and it hurts just a little – just the way I like it. It goes straight to my groin, and I think he’s either trying to distract me or possibly staking his claim.
“Something on your mind, Ryan?” Clive says.
Bastard must be good at reading just about everyone. Ryan looks like he wants to hit him, but instead he looks away, swiping his card through the slot.
“Greg wouldn’t mind the added company,” Clive continues.
It’s the truth, and he knows it. What’s more, he doesn’t seem to mind, and I think I almost hate him for that. I always did enjoy Ryan’s possessive nature. Maybe Clive’s just cocky; he knows I lost Ryan to Colin and that, no matter what, nothing I can do would ever have a snowball’s chance in hell of winning him back. What he doesn’t know is that I’m not so sure I mind these days. I may be stuck with Clive, but, unlike with Ryan, I actually love him.
Ryan pauses, staring, no, glaring at the small, blinking, green light. He turns back to us then, slowly, and his words are addressed to me.
“What are you doing?”
I can finally look away. I trace Clive’s collar with my eyes and mutter, “What the fuck does it look like I’m doing?” But his voice gets to me, just like I knew it would. I press my pelvis against Clive’s, almost ashamed, but I don’t think about that and just enjoy Clive responding, already half hard against me.
Ryan hesitates, and then he’s moving closer to us. I watch him in my peripheral vision, feeling the weight of his gaze, but I’d never give him the satisfaction of looking up. When Ryan’s right beside us, Clive tightens his hand in my hair yet further, possessive for once, and now it does hurt, but I can’t muster up the will to care.
Because Ryan is next to me, hot and smelling strongly of scotch, which might bother me more if the only reason we’d been at the store at this later hour hadn’t been the fact that Clive’s too much of a pussy to drink his vodka straight.
“What are you doing?” Ryan asks again, so close that I can feel his breath on my cheek. Clive, despite his hold, is surprisingly unfazed. I, however, am starting to get pissed.
Still, I can’t bring myself to look at Ryan when I all but snarl, “I can do whatever the fuck I want. Why do you even care? You left me.”
If he wasn’t so besotted, I think Ryan would have left right then, but he doesn’t. He grabs my face, fingers pressing so hard against my jaw that it hurts, and jerks my head around to face him. Clive still has a hand in my hair; he refuses to let up, and suddenly I feel trapped – not to mention far more turned on than I’d like.
My cock fucking jumps when Ryan touches me. I suck in a breath and meet his eyes, dark and angry, and it does nothing to help calm me.
“You weren’t supposed to move on,” Ryan whispers harshly before wrenching my chin forward and kissing me.
And fuck if I can say no to him.
Clive makes a low, indistinct sound, and I can’t tell if he’s turned on or angry, but then he presses closer to me, sliding his hips along mine, and I gasp into Ryan’s mouth, my hands fisting in his hair. I think, indistinctly, that he’s going to have to wash the chocolate out, but right now I could really care less.
Ryan takes his time exploring my mouth, remembering, sliding his tongue along mine and then pulling back to bite at my lower lip lightly. He sucks it between his lips, his taste so familiar, and then kisses me in earnest again, and I’m gratified, when he finally pulls back, smirking, that he’s just as short of air as I am. His hand cradles my jaw now; the other is in my hair, his fingers brushing Clive’s.
“Admit it,” he says, still smirking. “You still love me. His eyes dart to Clive, and I know what he’s really asking: “You love me more than him.”
I smirk back, but the truth is that I like them both equally tonight. Ryan may have me by the balls, but Clive has my heart.
Clive’s hand slides down my neck, toying gently with the hair at the nape. His other hand guides my hips to his and he bucks against me, kissing me just behind the hinge of my jaw. I suck in a breath, eyes slamming shut, and I tear my chin from Ryan’s grasp to give in to Clive. I kiss him, feeling him smile against my mouth, and Ryan growls.
He shoves Clive away, hard, and I wonder again just what could have transpired between Colin and Ryan that has him behaving like this. But then Ryan is on me, all around me, palms pressed flat to the door to either side of my head, his entire body flush with mine. God, it feels good, but it’s obvious that Ryan’s not turned on in the least. I realize then that this is all about control, about reminding himself that he’s important, and it has nothing to do with me. And that’s just fine. All he has to do is keep touching me.
“You’re mine,” he whispers, his chest rumbling pleasantly against mine. “You’ll always be mine.”
He kisses me again, and I don’t care enough to contradict him.
“Greg,” Clive says suddenly, softly, lips just brushing my ear, but if he really thinks I have the will to push Ryan away, he’s got another thing coming.
“Gregory,” he says, a little more sternly now, though the amusement in his voice is evident.
Fuck. I push Ryan back, laughing when I catch a glimpse of Clive’s smiling eyes, and it startles Ryan enough that he actually draws back without a fight. After all, I can’t even remember the last time Ryan would have seen me laugh off stage. As much as he can make me come with little more than a look, he’s never been able to make me smile.
He looks to Clive, wild and furious, but Clive only smiles calmly in return.
“Yes?” he says to Ryan, cocky as ever, even though my fingers have curled in Ryan’s shirt, and I’m practically clinging to him now.
I laugh again. Clive’s the only one Ryan could never best, and a small, incredibly vindictive part of me loves watching this. So I smile at Clive, raising my eyebrows in appreciation. Clive turns to me, meets my eyes, and I only smile wider. “God, I love you,” I tell him, chuckling again.
Clive’s smile softens, and he reaches up to brush his knuckles down my cheek. “I know.”
“No,” Ryan breaks in suddenly, snarling again. “Fuck, no.” He crushes his body against me, keeping Clive out, and I give a little whimper. He drops to his knees, then, unbuckling my belt and yanking down my pants in a matter of seconds. He’s looking for vindication, a sudden insecurity getting the best of him, and that’s fine with me. I’ve always loved the feel of his mouth around my cock; I’ll take it any way I can get it.
Ryan takes me deep down his throat, and he’s gotten even better in the past few years. I press back against the door, knocking my head into the wood as I let out a low moan. Distantly I hear the swish of leather as Clive undoes his own belt, and soon after he’s guiding my mouth to his as well as my hand to his erection. I need no incentive. I pump him in time to the bobbing of Ryan’s head, feeling each hitch of Clive’s breath, each grunt vibrated along the length of my tongue.
It doesn’t take either of us very long. I was already halfway there when Ryan took me, and watching us seems to have gotten Clive far more turned on that he’ll ever admit.
Soon neither of us can concentrate enough to kiss properly. We stand, leaning heavily into each other and against the door. Clive’s hands caress my face and neck as I fist his jacket, and Ryan is fucking angry. I can feel it in his jerky movements, in the light scrape of his teeth against the underside of my shaft, but I honestly couldn’t give a fuck. He wants my attention, and he’s not getting it, but Clive is still panting into my mouth, murmuring curses I never hear him utter outside a bedroom, and it’s the sound of his voice that pushes me over the edge. I press my face into Clive’s shoulder, whining softly, hand tight around his cock, and then he’s coming, too, lips against my cheek.
“God... Greg...” he groans, long and loud, and I think I could get hard again just from the sound of him.
When Ryan lifts himself to his feet, wiping absently at his mouth, Clive and I are still curled around each other. Ryan looks furious. I’m pretty sure whatever happened between him and Colin this evening was his fault, that he’s the one suffering, and he needed me to help remind himself that he’s actually worth something. Well tough shit. I lift my head just enough to smirk at him, and Ryan looks angry enough to kill, but then, suddenly, there’s a very distinct clearing of the throat just a few feet away.
Ryan goes still, his eyes widening almost comically. Clive and I meet each others’ eyes, grinning, because we all know that voice better than we know our own mother’s. It’s Clive who eventually addresses him, still smiling at me as Ryan slowly turns to face the new arrival.
“Hello, Colin.”
I look past Clive to see Colin watching Ryan, arms crossed, eyes hard. I wonder, again, just what had happened between them, and I’m admittedly far too pleased to see Ryan digging himself in deeper. But then Clive is shifting, muttering something about how I’ve absolutely ruined his suit jacket as he wipes at the chocolate stains, and the plastic bag still hanging in the crook of my elbow is finally starting to hurt, and I decide that I don’t really care what happens between them.
“I’m sure you two have things to discuss,” Clive tells them, giving up on his jacket and smiling at me again. “We’ll leave you alone now.” He reaches around me, wedging Ryan out of the way to unlock and open the door. I stumble back when he pushes it in, laughing, content, and by the time it closes once more, and Clive’s shrugging out of his clothes and nodding toward the shower suggestively, I’ve already forgotten everything but him.
Title: 3 A.M.
Author: Clay
Pairings: Greg/Clive, Ryan/Greg/Clive, and mention of both Ryan/Colin and past Ryan/Greg
Rating: NC-17... I suppose.
Summary: Eh... the author’s notes explain it well enough, I think.
Author’s Notes: Written for Zekkass (who I'm starting to think of as my unofficial muse :P). She posted The LJ Markov Random Text Generator yesterday, and I tried it on my LJ and got the sentence: “I smirk back, but I like them both equal for the night.” It’s a mishmash of three different sentences, I believe, but it worked oddly well, and I was intrigued. Zekkass offered Ryan/Greg/Clive to explore it with, and the rest is history. Takes place some time during 10th season UK. Also, thanks to Lyndsey for her help, not to mention putting up with me while I was writing this. *smirks*
Word Count: 2,933
The cashier eyes us up like we’re a couple of teenagers rather than two middle aged men, but I just smile at him. A pack of Marlboros, a pint of orange juice and a jar of Nutella might not be the strangest purchase he’s ever had to ring up, but when it’s coming from two men in dark suits at three in the morning, I can see how he’d be curious.
So I make it worse.
I lean forward, bent at the waist, to fold my arms on the counter, leering at the young man. “Gonna ring us up, or are you just going to stare until the sun comes up?”
He starts. The worn plastic name tag on his chest tells me his name is Peter.
“Peter,” I say, and his eyes narrow. I want to laugh, but instead I unfold one arm and push the Nutella toward him. “Be a dear and scan these for us, would you? We have things to do.” He still doesn’t move; his mouth dips down in a scowl, and I wink. “Unless you were thinking of joining us, that is.”
That gets him. He tears his gaze away, snatching up the goods and ringing them up in short, jerky movements.
Suddenly hands alight on my hips, feather light. “Don’t tease the boy,” Clive says softly, amused. I can feel the heat of him standing just behind me, and it reminds me of why I’m so eager to get back to the hotel in the first place. Almost unconsciously I find myself pressing back against him, and Clive gives a low chuckle.
“Gregory...” he warns.
I just throw him a smirk over my shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “What? He could join us.” My smile widens a little, voice lowering. “Unless you want me all to yourself?”
Clive presses his fingers into my hips harder and then works his way under my jacket and shirt, which I’d untucked ages ago.
“Behave,” he says just above a whisper.
I know it’s the alcohol making him so affectionate in public, but I’ve had my fair share to drink as well, and I just enjoy the feel of his hands against my bare skin.
Clive’s not as tipsy as I’d like, however, I discover in the taxi during the ride back to the Sheraton. I dig through the plastic Circle K bag, pressed closer to Clive than he’s strictly comfortable with. He keeps shooting the driver looks, and when I twist open the Nutella and offer him a finger coated with nutty, creamy chocolate, he only puts a hand on my wrist, pushing me away gently.
“Not now, Greg,” he murmurs.
So I stick the finger in my own mouth, sucking it clean with a smirk, and Clive chuckles, shaking his head.
“You will be with death of me.”
This does nothing to deter me, and we’re both in high spirits when we step off the elevator, onto our floor. Each finger on my right hand is almost entirely covered in chocolate, and Clive’s told me no less than three times how disgusting and childish I’m being, but when we reach my room, and I lean back against the door, refusing to find my key for fear of ruining my pants, a fucking leer on my lips, Clive merely smirks back, leans forward to lick a trail up my middle finger and slips his hands into my pockets.
I suck in a soft breath, smiling at him lazily, and Clive laughs, sliding the key card from my pocket as he takes the finger fully into his mouth. I think I whimper, pressing back against the door, jutting my hips forward, continuing to laugh as his tongue folds around my finger, and he sucks hard.
There’s a sudden, nearly inaudible gasp from the far end of the hallway. I wouldn’t have heard it except for how quiet the corridor is in the wee hours of the morning, and it turns the sound into something closer to a death toll.
Clive and I jerk away from each other instantly, snapping our heads toward the sound, but it’s only Ryan, paused mid stride, eyes wide and staring.
A flush touches his cheeks, and even at a distance I can see that his eyes are red. He’s either been drinking or crying. Something tells me it’s both.
But he’s no longer my concern, so I rip my eyes away and fixate on the shoulder seam of Clive’s jacket.
“Ignore him,” I mutter, reaching out my clean hand to take the key back.
Not that Clive’s ever listened to me.
He moves the key just out of reach. “Good evening, Ryan,” he says, laying his free hand on my chest and holding me at bay. Ryan moves past without a word, heading to his own room, and after another moment Clive looks back to me. He’s fucking smirking, and I love the look on him. “Pleasant fellow,” he murmurs.
I laugh, because only Clive has the ability to make me forget about what I once had with Ryan, and lean forward to speak against his throat. “Fuck ‘im.”
Clive chuckles, sliding his hand up my chest and neck to tangle his fingers in my curls. “I thought that was over,” he jokes quietly.
I don’t want to remember, so I don’t respond. Clive turns his head, watching Ryan once more. His cheek brushes mine, and then he’s chuckling again.
“He’s watching us, you know.”
My eyes slide shut, but I need to see, so I open them again almost immediately, turning my head just enough to catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye. Clive’s right. Ryan is watching us, eyes narrowed, and it’s obvious he’s heard every word we’ve said. He looks like he wants to say something, but I pray he keeps his mouth shut; it’s been years, but the sound of his voice still gets to me like nothing else, and I want to concentrate on Clive tonight.
I’m sure Clive knows all this; he can read me better than anyone I’ve ever known. I’m also sure, when he opens his mouth, eyes still on Ryan, and says, “He could join us if you like,” that he doesn’t give half a damn. He likes to push my buttons, and that’s one of the things I like best about him, but right now it’s less than welcome.
Ryan scowls deeply, and I want to look away, but I can’t. He’s fingering his key cared, and I wonder if we’re in the same predicament.
Clive’s fingers twist in my hair, and it hurts just a little – just the way I like it. It goes straight to my groin, and I think he’s either trying to distract me or possibly staking his claim.
“Something on your mind, Ryan?” Clive says.
Bastard must be good at reading just about everyone. Ryan looks like he wants to hit him, but instead he looks away, swiping his card through the slot.
“Greg wouldn’t mind the added company,” Clive continues.
It’s the truth, and he knows it. What’s more, he doesn’t seem to mind, and I think I almost hate him for that. I always did enjoy Ryan’s possessive nature. Maybe Clive’s just cocky; he knows I lost Ryan to Colin and that, no matter what, nothing I can do would ever have a snowball’s chance in hell of winning him back. What he doesn’t know is that I’m not so sure I mind these days. I may be stuck with Clive, but, unlike with Ryan, I actually love him.
Ryan pauses, staring, no, glaring at the small, blinking, green light. He turns back to us then, slowly, and his words are addressed to me.
“What are you doing?”
I can finally look away. I trace Clive’s collar with my eyes and mutter, “What the fuck does it look like I’m doing?” But his voice gets to me, just like I knew it would. I press my pelvis against Clive’s, almost ashamed, but I don’t think about that and just enjoy Clive responding, already half hard against me.
Ryan hesitates, and then he’s moving closer to us. I watch him in my peripheral vision, feeling the weight of his gaze, but I’d never give him the satisfaction of looking up. When Ryan’s right beside us, Clive tightens his hand in my hair yet further, possessive for once, and now it does hurt, but I can’t muster up the will to care.
Because Ryan is next to me, hot and smelling strongly of scotch, which might bother me more if the only reason we’d been at the store at this later hour hadn’t been the fact that Clive’s too much of a pussy to drink his vodka straight.
“What are you doing?” Ryan asks again, so close that I can feel his breath on my cheek. Clive, despite his hold, is surprisingly unfazed. I, however, am starting to get pissed.
Still, I can’t bring myself to look at Ryan when I all but snarl, “I can do whatever the fuck I want. Why do you even care? You left me.”
If he wasn’t so besotted, I think Ryan would have left right then, but he doesn’t. He grabs my face, fingers pressing so hard against my jaw that it hurts, and jerks my head around to face him. Clive still has a hand in my hair; he refuses to let up, and suddenly I feel trapped – not to mention far more turned on than I’d like.
My cock fucking jumps when Ryan touches me. I suck in a breath and meet his eyes, dark and angry, and it does nothing to help calm me.
“You weren’t supposed to move on,” Ryan whispers harshly before wrenching my chin forward and kissing me.
And fuck if I can say no to him.
Clive makes a low, indistinct sound, and I can’t tell if he’s turned on or angry, but then he presses closer to me, sliding his hips along mine, and I gasp into Ryan’s mouth, my hands fisting in his hair. I think, indistinctly, that he’s going to have to wash the chocolate out, but right now I could really care less.
Ryan takes his time exploring my mouth, remembering, sliding his tongue along mine and then pulling back to bite at my lower lip lightly. He sucks it between his lips, his taste so familiar, and then kisses me in earnest again, and I’m gratified, when he finally pulls back, smirking, that he’s just as short of air as I am. His hand cradles my jaw now; the other is in my hair, his fingers brushing Clive’s.
“Admit it,” he says, still smirking. “You still love me. His eyes dart to Clive, and I know what he’s really asking: “You love me more than him.”
I smirk back, but the truth is that I like them both equally tonight. Ryan may have me by the balls, but Clive has my heart.
Clive’s hand slides down my neck, toying gently with the hair at the nape. His other hand guides my hips to his and he bucks against me, kissing me just behind the hinge of my jaw. I suck in a breath, eyes slamming shut, and I tear my chin from Ryan’s grasp to give in to Clive. I kiss him, feeling him smile against my mouth, and Ryan growls.
He shoves Clive away, hard, and I wonder again just what could have transpired between Colin and Ryan that has him behaving like this. But then Ryan is on me, all around me, palms pressed flat to the door to either side of my head, his entire body flush with mine. God, it feels good, but it’s obvious that Ryan’s not turned on in the least. I realize then that this is all about control, about reminding himself that he’s important, and it has nothing to do with me. And that’s just fine. All he has to do is keep touching me.
“You’re mine,” he whispers, his chest rumbling pleasantly against mine. “You’ll always be mine.”
He kisses me again, and I don’t care enough to contradict him.
“Greg,” Clive says suddenly, softly, lips just brushing my ear, but if he really thinks I have the will to push Ryan away, he’s got another thing coming.
“Gregory,” he says, a little more sternly now, though the amusement in his voice is evident.
Fuck. I push Ryan back, laughing when I catch a glimpse of Clive’s smiling eyes, and it startles Ryan enough that he actually draws back without a fight. After all, I can’t even remember the last time Ryan would have seen me laugh off stage. As much as he can make me come with little more than a look, he’s never been able to make me smile.
He looks to Clive, wild and furious, but Clive only smiles calmly in return.
“Yes?” he says to Ryan, cocky as ever, even though my fingers have curled in Ryan’s shirt, and I’m practically clinging to him now.
I laugh again. Clive’s the only one Ryan could never best, and a small, incredibly vindictive part of me loves watching this. So I smile at Clive, raising my eyebrows in appreciation. Clive turns to me, meets my eyes, and I only smile wider. “God, I love you,” I tell him, chuckling again.
Clive’s smile softens, and he reaches up to brush his knuckles down my cheek. “I know.”
“No,” Ryan breaks in suddenly, snarling again. “Fuck, no.” He crushes his body against me, keeping Clive out, and I give a little whimper. He drops to his knees, then, unbuckling my belt and yanking down my pants in a matter of seconds. He’s looking for vindication, a sudden insecurity getting the best of him, and that’s fine with me. I’ve always loved the feel of his mouth around my cock; I’ll take it any way I can get it.
Ryan takes me deep down his throat, and he’s gotten even better in the past few years. I press back against the door, knocking my head into the wood as I let out a low moan. Distantly I hear the swish of leather as Clive undoes his own belt, and soon after he’s guiding my mouth to his as well as my hand to his erection. I need no incentive. I pump him in time to the bobbing of Ryan’s head, feeling each hitch of Clive’s breath, each grunt vibrated along the length of my tongue.
It doesn’t take either of us very long. I was already halfway there when Ryan took me, and watching us seems to have gotten Clive far more turned on that he’ll ever admit.
Soon neither of us can concentrate enough to kiss properly. We stand, leaning heavily into each other and against the door. Clive’s hands caress my face and neck as I fist his jacket, and Ryan is fucking angry. I can feel it in his jerky movements, in the light scrape of his teeth against the underside of my shaft, but I honestly couldn’t give a fuck. He wants my attention, and he’s not getting it, but Clive is still panting into my mouth, murmuring curses I never hear him utter outside a bedroom, and it’s the sound of his voice that pushes me over the edge. I press my face into Clive’s shoulder, whining softly, hand tight around his cock, and then he’s coming, too, lips against my cheek.
“God... Greg...” he groans, long and loud, and I think I could get hard again just from the sound of him.
When Ryan lifts himself to his feet, wiping absently at his mouth, Clive and I are still curled around each other. Ryan looks furious. I’m pretty sure whatever happened between him and Colin this evening was his fault, that he’s the one suffering, and he needed me to help remind himself that he’s actually worth something. Well tough shit. I lift my head just enough to smirk at him, and Ryan looks angry enough to kill, but then, suddenly, there’s a very distinct clearing of the throat just a few feet away.
Ryan goes still, his eyes widening almost comically. Clive and I meet each others’ eyes, grinning, because we all know that voice better than we know our own mother’s. It’s Clive who eventually addresses him, still smiling at me as Ryan slowly turns to face the new arrival.
“Hello, Colin.”
I look past Clive to see Colin watching Ryan, arms crossed, eyes hard. I wonder, again, just what had happened between them, and I’m admittedly far too pleased to see Ryan digging himself in deeper. But then Clive is shifting, muttering something about how I’ve absolutely ruined his suit jacket as he wipes at the chocolate stains, and the plastic bag still hanging in the crook of my elbow is finally starting to hurt, and I decide that I don’t really care what happens between them.
“I’m sure you two have things to discuss,” Clive tells them, giving up on his jacket and smiling at me again. “We’ll leave you alone now.” He reaches around me, wedging Ryan out of the way to unlock and open the door. I stumble back when he pushes it in, laughing, content, and by the time it closes once more, and Clive’s shrugging out of his clothes and nodding toward the shower suggestively, I’ve already forgotten everything but him.
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