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Because I wanted to write something Greg related and happy on his birthday.
Title: Chopsticks
Author: Clay
Pairing: Ryan/Greg
Rating: PG
Summary: Ryan's in a bad mood, and Greg wants to fix that.
Word Count: 449
Ryan slammed the door. He didn’t even look up as he crossed the living room, tossing down his coat and keys along the way. Greg glanced up, watching him with wide, unreadable eyes. In a few long strides Ryan was in the bathroom, and Greg craned his head around the corner, studying the closed door for a moment before retreating to the kitchen and picking up the phone.
When Ryan flopped down on the couch and flipped on the tv, he was still breathing heavily, cheeks flushed with residual anger.
“Bad day?” Greg asked softly, leaning over the back of the couch beside him, a glass of scotch nestled in one hand.
Ryan looked from Greg to the glass and back again before taking the drink with a scowl and a shrug. He murmured a response under his breath—a reluctant acquiescence, and Greg retreated to the kitchen once more.
Twenty minutes later, a knock sounded on the door. Ryan merely slumped further into the couch and resumed flipping through television channels, the scotch half drunk and long warm resting against his knee. He could hear Greg moving around, the quiet conversation at the door, and then the distinct scent of food—grease—wafted into the room. Ryan sat up, a little unconsciously, fighting the urge to turn around.
A moment later Greg sauntered in the room, a white cardboard carton of what looked to be lo mein in his hands, and then perched on the arm of the chair, eyes on the television. He lifted the chopsticks to his mouth, and then, as though just noticing Ryan’s eyes on him, slid his gaze over innocently.
“Yes?” he said, licking his lips.
Ryan stared at him just another moment, the touch of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Bastard,” he muttered.
Greg scoffed. “This is the way you’re talking to me, and you expect food?”
Ryan raised his eyebrows in return and set his glass down on the coffee table, turning and lifting himself up onto his knees. He placed one hand on the arm of the chair, the other in Greg’s lap, bracing himself as he arched up and placed a long, slow kiss on his lover’s lips.
He pulled away and then slipped the carton from Greg’s hands, scooting back and then leaning against the opposite arm of the couch with a triumphant smirk.
Greg stared at him, realization dawning a moment later and he turned toward Ryan, placing his feet on the couch cushion, snorting softly. “I’m glad I brightened your mood,” Greg murmured sarcastically, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, a smirk on his lips.
And Ryan smiled back. “You always do.”
Title: Chopsticks
Author: Clay
Pairing: Ryan/Greg
Rating: PG
Summary: Ryan's in a bad mood, and Greg wants to fix that.
Word Count: 449
Ryan slammed the door. He didn’t even look up as he crossed the living room, tossing down his coat and keys along the way. Greg glanced up, watching him with wide, unreadable eyes. In a few long strides Ryan was in the bathroom, and Greg craned his head around the corner, studying the closed door for a moment before retreating to the kitchen and picking up the phone.
When Ryan flopped down on the couch and flipped on the tv, he was still breathing heavily, cheeks flushed with residual anger.
“Bad day?” Greg asked softly, leaning over the back of the couch beside him, a glass of scotch nestled in one hand.
Ryan looked from Greg to the glass and back again before taking the drink with a scowl and a shrug. He murmured a response under his breath—a reluctant acquiescence, and Greg retreated to the kitchen once more.
Twenty minutes later, a knock sounded on the door. Ryan merely slumped further into the couch and resumed flipping through television channels, the scotch half drunk and long warm resting against his knee. He could hear Greg moving around, the quiet conversation at the door, and then the distinct scent of food—grease—wafted into the room. Ryan sat up, a little unconsciously, fighting the urge to turn around.
A moment later Greg sauntered in the room, a white cardboard carton of what looked to be lo mein in his hands, and then perched on the arm of the chair, eyes on the television. He lifted the chopsticks to his mouth, and then, as though just noticing Ryan’s eyes on him, slid his gaze over innocently.
“Yes?” he said, licking his lips.
Ryan stared at him just another moment, the touch of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Bastard,” he muttered.
Greg scoffed. “This is the way you’re talking to me, and you expect food?”
Ryan raised his eyebrows in return and set his glass down on the coffee table, turning and lifting himself up onto his knees. He placed one hand on the arm of the chair, the other in Greg’s lap, bracing himself as he arched up and placed a long, slow kiss on his lover’s lips.
He pulled away and then slipped the carton from Greg’s hands, scooting back and then leaning against the opposite arm of the couch with a triumphant smirk.
Greg stared at him, realization dawning a moment later and he turned toward Ryan, placing his feet on the couch cushion, snorting softly. “I’m glad I brightened your mood,” Greg murmured sarcastically, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, a smirk on his lips.
And Ryan smiled back. “You always do.”
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