I - Things Unspoken
Well, I wrote a Ryan/Don one-shot.
It's been a long time since I wrote anything fic-related but.. yeah. Ever since I read lausi_gm 's addictive fics, I kind of wanted to write a Don/Ryan myself. And here it is. (God, I can be so sappy sometimes..)
Title: Things Unspoken
Rating: Rated NC-17 - just to be on the safe side
Disclaimer: I do not own CSI Miami or CSI New York.
Warning: Kinda AU - Violence, Angst, slightly sappy situations between Don and Ryan,
Summary: One-shot - "One of the hardest things in life is having words in your heart that you can't utter." (James Earl Jones)
A/N: This fic is not beta-ed so if you find any errors, please let me know.
Things Unspoken
Rain. The silent pitter-pattering of droplets on the windowsill. Dark clouds pushing each other in the sky, veiling the stars behind a thick layer of grey.
It would have been soothing to listen to the drumming of rain-drops against the window-pane, but it wasn't.
In fact, there was an oppressing silence filling the room, only broken by the occasional snore from the man beside him.
Eyes wide and heart beating a little faster than usual, Ryan turned in bed, deliberately facing the side where he couldn't see Don's face. His hands fisted the blanket, knuckles turning white with strain as he willed his breathing to even out. 'It's just the rain', Ryan thought anxiously, repeating the sentence like a mantra. 'No need to freak out'.
True, what descended from heaven was only rain and if it hadn't grown into a storm he wouldn't have been so damn nervous. But this was a storm and he feared storms, he was afraid of them ever since he'd left his home-town. He didn't like the sound of thunder or the angry howl of the wind. He didn't like the lightening as it cast the room in an eerie glow or the darkness of the sky that made you think all stars had been swallowed and disappeared forever.
Careful to keep his movements to a minimum as to not wake Don with his doings, Ryan reached over to his bedside-drawer and retrieved a small bottle of pills. He hadn't taken one of these since he'd started working in sunny Miami. Bathed in starlight at night there had been no need to calm himself with Valerian. But New York was different.
The busy city was visited by rain-clouds more often than not and sometimes, sometimes the rain evolved into a storm.
So far Ryan had been lucky enough there had only been three storms since he had moved in with Don four months ago.
One had been during day and Ryan had been successfully able to ignore it in one of the windowless labs of CSI.
The other had started when he'd been to a movie with Don on Saturday night and out in the open he'd had the excuse of not wanting to take a sick-leave this early in his career at New York's CSI to huddle even closer to Don under the wide umbrella.
The third had been after dark as well, but thankfully Don had been working night-shift and missed out on Ryan's panicked face as he stalked through the apartment like a caged animal.
Ryan had learned how to ride out storms and he was very well capable to endure the fear whenever it happened to assault him but this was worse. So much worse because Don was right here, right beside him. And what he feared more than the storms was that his lover might notice.
He was afraid of the questions he knew would come if Don caught on to his fear. He was frightened of the story he would have to tell and truly terrified of the words that would trigger pictures in his head he would rather keep buried deep inside his mind. And most of all he was afraid of the expression on Don's face if - when he found out. Horror. Betrayal? Anger.
Anger.
Oh God, he could endure every emotion on Don's face but not anger. Horror, yes. Even betrayal. But anger? No, he wouldn't be able to bear seeing anger. It was such a violent emotion as it distorted a human's face, warping it into an angry mask.
Quickly fishing out four of the pills as his heart-rate sped up once again, Ryan popped them into his mouth and washed them down with a few swigs of the glass of water he used to have on his bedside-drawer. Hurriedly he emptied the remnants of water after he'd swallowed the pills, hoping he could just drown the choking lump of fear crawling up his throat. His mouth felt parched and dry and his breathing hitched as he noticed the lump gradually moving upwards. He knew if he allowed it to ascend any further he would start whimpering words of fear and he couldn't do that, it would wake Don for sure.
Lightening bathed the room in blinding white and for a moment Ryan could have sworn he'd seen that person. Gripping his throat with a shaky hand Ryan leaped out of the bed and stood ready for fight or flight with knees shaking so badly he just wanted to crawl back under the covers again.
Pathetic.
Pathetic, yes. His fear was pathetic and Ryan knew he would rather take flight than fight. It had always been flight, so flight it would be.
With one last glance at the still figure in bed, Ryan closed the door to the bedroom as he slipped out. Good, Don was still asleep. He wouldn't know how to deal with him right now.
Outside he allowed himself a moment of frightened relief; relief about the fact he was leaning against the door rather than lying in bed on the other side, still suffering in silence forced by sheer power of will. He felt as if he'd sealed away a terrible dragon inside the room and he was relieved. It was pathetic.
Then panic hit him again and he needed to move.
Move, move, move. It was all he could do. 'Move' was the basic rule for flight, the only thing important. It was a driving need that hurt like a glass-shard and Ryan complied.
Without thinking Ryan stalked over to the bathroom, body sighing as a little bit of tension ebbed away by simply doing something.
He switched on the light and found himself hesitating for a second as he was faced with the prospect of entering a small, windowless room with no means of escape. This was flight though, right? So moving was essential and panic moved him - as it always did.
With movements that were far too knowing for his short stay at Don's apartment to be natural, Ryan opened a drawer to the left and pulled out a small sponge and a bottle of bleach.
The constricting tightness in his chest lessened a little as he started cleaning the bath-tub, not even bothering to pull on a pair of gloves as he panted and groaned silently with effort.
His fingers ached from the strain with which he held the sponge and scrubbed the tub, skin screaming with pain as it became red and dry. And still he couldn't stop.
He scrubbed the tub, the walls, the basin, the floor, the drawers. He even emptied the latter and cleaned the inside, only so he could arrange the contents anew. But the fear was still there.
Trembling with the effort to hold up because of the speed with which he'd forced himself to clean, Ryan slipped into the kitchen. He hadn't switched on the light which was an error but he had been too afraid Don would see since the kitchen was the room nearest to the bedroom.
Then lightening struck again and Ryan saw the shadows he was so afraid of ever since.
He gripped the sponge tighter at the increasing speed of his heart. Jaw set and teeth gritting so hard his dentist would cringe, Ryan worked on the stove. He hated the goosebumps spreading on his neck as he worked in the darkness but he tried to forget by scrubbing the metal surface as meticulously as he could.
~ A hand reached out from the shadows, gripping him, choking him.~
Ryan panted. Swallowed thickly. No, it couldn't happen again. Not today, not here... not now.
~ A face contorted with anger harbouring eyes of dark coal.~
A shiver raced up Ryan's body and he had to grip the edge of the counter to keep himself from folding in on himself. Oh God, why couldn't he forget? Why were those memories so fresh he could have sworn it had only happened yesterday? It hurt. It hurt so much.
~ “What did you tell them?! Why's the police out to find me?! What did you say, you fucker?!” ~
Ryan's eyes widened. Staring at the white-white stove, he couldn't see anything anymore, eyes fixed onto a similar stove that had been gone for a long, long time. He didn't hear the lone car passing by the window, he only heard the sound of storm, a storm that had raged years ago. Ridiculous how the present faded away to make place for the past. Ridiculous really... how afraid he was of something that had long passed.
~ A fist hit his face, again and again but he didn't notice, his own fingers buried into skin to try and keep a strong hand from choking him. Over him there was a face looming and what he could see despite the shadows of the night and the haze of dark spots dancing in front of his eyes, was truly terrifying. There was anger, so much anger. And there was the voice, hissing and throwing murderous words at him. ~
Ryan's body froze as it had back then. Mind caged in the fear of days long past. Somewhere deep within him he knew he'd done the same back then, he'd grown stiff when he'd been attacked in his own kitchen. He'd frozen like a coward.
~ “You told them, didn't you?! You told them I would abuse you! Admit it!!” The voice screaming at him broke from strain. Ryan's eyes were wide and frightened as he realised how much anger there really was. Would he die?
He didn't know how his ex-lover had succeeded in breaking into his apartment. He couldn't believe it might end like this when he'd finally found the courage to tell the police. How could he? How dumb had he been to trust their word as they promised he wouldn't ever hurt him again? How blind had he been to think they would be able to protect him? ~
Ryan jerked. His heart stuttered for an awful long moment before it resumed its maddening pace. He'd only barely survived that night. How come he had put his trust into a detective once again? Lightening.
~ Lightening. He could see his ex-lover's angered face as clearly as if it had been bathed in broad daylight, saw the mad glint in dark eyes that desired to kill.
Somehow Ryan knew he would die but this didn't make him prone to lay still, quite the contrary, Ryan struggled now, attacking the marble face above him instead of the hand choking him that just wouldn't budge.
“You fucking shit! You destroyed my life!!” the voice yelled, seemingly unfazed by Ryan's attempts to break free, but the grip around his neck lessened just a little. Ryan tried to knee him but the figure above him simply pushed down harder on his thighs. Ryan was desperate. It was a suffocating emotion and his chest hurt with the ache of it. It was like a ton of bricks weighing down on his body and mind. He was desperate. Desperate enough to beg. “Please”, he tried to plead with the man above him, ignoring the rasp of his bruised throat. “Let me go. I didn't mean to.”
A bout of pain flared up in his chest as a fist came down on it with enough force to shatter bone. Ryan registered the resounding crunch with hazy detachment only, as he struggled to breathe - he hadn't expected anything else. Whenever this man decided to hit him, he hit him for good. And God, he was strong.
How many times had he bandaged up broken ribs in the lone confinements of their apartment?
How many times had he studied his own swollen face in the mirror with the familiar emotional numbness of denial?
How many times had he covered the mirror with a blanket afterwards, trying to convince himself it had been just an accident? Just another one. The last one. Right? ~
Ryan scrubbed harder on the blank spot, not noticing the drops of blood he left on the gleaming surface. He'd long abraded the skin on his hands but no one was there to spot it and he himself was far too gone.
~ He stared up at the face above him through eyes swollen shut. His face felt like a balloon filled with cotton and scalding water. He didn't know anymore where his body ended and the floor began. Did he feel anything at all? Oh there was pain... so much pain. And fear.
He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the outlines of the man he'd loved any longer, only to open them up again when he felt hot breath against his ear. “You destroyed my life. Now I'll destroy yours as well.” Ryan screamed. ~
His whole body felt numb. He couldn't feel the metallic surface of the stove against hips nor the cold tiles beneath bis bare feet. It was like a trance and still so much worse. How had he been able to survive? How had he succeeded in holding out? When had he reached for the bottle opener, still lying discarded on the counter though it wasn't Ryan's nature to leave things scattered? How the hell had he gotten around to plunge the sharp object into his ex-lover's neck as if it was just a chunk of dead flesh? He remembered the way how the figure had screamed and how he'd tried to hit Ryan over and over just so he would stop driving the bottle opener into the body above him. His ex-lover's hands had been everywhere, on his face, his neck.. his shoulders, all to keep him from stabbing any further. In the end though.. he'd died.
Then a hand landed on his shoulder, jerking Ryan back into reality and causing him to whirl around like a creature possessed. “Let go of me!!” he yelled, his voice almost a screech and unfamiliar even to his own ears.
He had meant it in many, many ways and for one person only, but in front of him wasn't the person who'd almost killed him... but Don. And Don's palms were lifted in surrender which made Ryan feel even worse. His heart plummeted.
Ryan ached, both inside and outside; a pain he hadn't felt in a long, long time. If defeat felt like this, then he felt defeated a hundred times over. He sighed, utterly and completely exhausted. “I'm sorry.” There was nothing else to say and turning around he picked up the sponge he'd dropped when Don had touched him and started scrubbing again.
There was stunned silence.
“What for?” Don's voice resounded softly after a second or two. “It was me who startled you.”
Ryan gritted his teeth, “but I bet you didn't expect me to half attack you.” God, how he hated that his past still had such a good grip on him, even after such a long time. Maybe it would be better to tell Don this wouldn't work out. Maybe it was better to let go of his lover ere he hurt him for real.
Don stepped over to the stove, stilling Ryan's hand oh-so-softly with his own before he pried the sponge out of tense fingers and threw it into the sink. For a moment Don hesitated, then he gently opened Ryan's fists to examine the red, raw skin on his palms.
The kitchen was uncomfortably silent without the sound of scrubbing and Ryan forced himself not to look at Don, afraid of what he would see. But then Don's thumb started to caress the skin of Ryan's hand that wasn't all chapped and bloody and tears pricked at Ryan's eyes at this gesture of affection. He knew Don deserved to be with a man that wasn't defiled; one who wasn't ruled by his past. He deserved so much better. And yet.. it hurt so much to let him go. How could he let him go?
He might have sobbed because the next thing he knew was Don's loving voice as it commanded him to look at his face and strangely enough, he complied.
No matter his fear, he couldn't resist a request filled with so much love. And to Ryan's surprise Don's face wasn't contorted by anger or disgust, it was tinged with worry and understanding; eyes glistening with tears like his own. “No matter what you think, you don't need to hide from me”, Don said and palmed the side of Ryan's softly.
Ryan once again felt tightness constricting his throat and he swallowed thickly. “But you wouldn't understand!” His voice was full of something he didn't understand. It was desperation, Ryan noticed only a moment later. But for another reason entirely. He was desperate for Don to understand and at the same time not to. He was desperate for Don to say he would leave him... and at the same to say he would stay.
“Ryan”, Don called softly as he caught the younger man's gaze. “I do understand.”
“Y-You do...?” Was that fear in his voice? Or hope. Oh no, he shouldn't hope.
Don nodded softly. “Yes, I do.” He seemed to wait just a moment, but wait for what? For Ryan's eyes to fasten on his face? For Ryan to overcome the first initial panic and listen to him? To believe him? He didn't know but he did all of the things. “I've seen how you flinch when people are yelling, Ryan. Despite your attempt to hide it I have noticed how you take a step back when someone's angry. And I know the way you scan rooms whenever we enter our apartment. I know all those gestures, I've seen them far too often during my work at the police department.”
Ryan swallowed again. He wanted to writhe out of Don's gentle hold on his face but for once the hand tightened.
Don's voice toned down to a whisper. “I've known it the moment we met a year ago in Miami. You didn't need to say anything, I could see it in your eyes that never seemed to rest during our date.”
W-What? Green eyes widened. Don had known all along. Don hadn't noticed until after he'd moved in with him, he'd known it ever since their first date. And Don had asked him to live with him despite his knowledge. What did that make him?
A good man?
Or a fool.
Ryan took a deep breath. “Do you love me?”
Both of them knew the question wasn't voiced just to beg for TLC. It was the question, the one that was as unbelieving as it was hopeful. It was the question that was asked after a partner found out things about you you'd rather not have him know.
It was full of uncertainty and yet so full of hope.
Could he allow himself to hope?
Should he?
And Don did everything to reassure his lover, his hand on the younger man's face increasing its pressure just slightly. “Yes, I do.”
A soft sigh. Ryan couldn't deny the fact that despite him thinking of himself that he was a monster who'd killed a human, he was very much relieved that he was loved. He was loved. But was he loved all the way through? “Do you mind my past?”
Don's blue eyes didn't waver for a moment. “I have one myself.”
“Okay...”, Ryan said anxiously. Should he allow himself to be loved?
“Okay”, Don answered with a smile, telling him he better allowed it. He carded a possessive hand through short brown hair, eyes asking him to give in. Give in. Give in. Give in.
Ryan sobbed, heart opening up. “Hold me, please.”
“I would be glad to.” As always.
It's been a long time since I wrote anything fic-related but.. yeah. Ever since I read lausi_gm 's addictive fics, I kind of wanted to write a Don/Ryan myself. And here it is. (God, I can be so sappy sometimes..)
Title: Things Unspoken
Rating: Rated NC-17 - just to be on the safe side
Disclaimer: I do not own CSI Miami or CSI New York.
Warning: Kinda AU - Violence, Angst, slightly sappy situations between Don and Ryan,
Summary: One-shot - "One of the hardest things in life is having words in your heart that you can't utter." (James Earl Jones)
A/N: This fic is not beta-ed so if you find any errors, please let me know.
Things Unspoken
Rain. The silent pitter-pattering of droplets on the windowsill. Dark clouds pushing each other in the sky, veiling the stars behind a thick layer of grey.
It would have been soothing to listen to the drumming of rain-drops against the window-pane, but it wasn't.
In fact, there was an oppressing silence filling the room, only broken by the occasional snore from the man beside him.
Eyes wide and heart beating a little faster than usual, Ryan turned in bed, deliberately facing the side where he couldn't see Don's face. His hands fisted the blanket, knuckles turning white with strain as he willed his breathing to even out. 'It's just the rain', Ryan thought anxiously, repeating the sentence like a mantra. 'No need to freak out'.
True, what descended from heaven was only rain and if it hadn't grown into a storm he wouldn't have been so damn nervous. But this was a storm and he feared storms, he was afraid of them ever since he'd left his home-town. He didn't like the sound of thunder or the angry howl of the wind. He didn't like the lightening as it cast the room in an eerie glow or the darkness of the sky that made you think all stars had been swallowed and disappeared forever.
Careful to keep his movements to a minimum as to not wake Don with his doings, Ryan reached over to his bedside-drawer and retrieved a small bottle of pills. He hadn't taken one of these since he'd started working in sunny Miami. Bathed in starlight at night there had been no need to calm himself with Valerian. But New York was different.
The busy city was visited by rain-clouds more often than not and sometimes, sometimes the rain evolved into a storm.
So far Ryan had been lucky enough there had only been three storms since he had moved in with Don four months ago.
One had been during day and Ryan had been successfully able to ignore it in one of the windowless labs of CSI.
The other had started when he'd been to a movie with Don on Saturday night and out in the open he'd had the excuse of not wanting to take a sick-leave this early in his career at New York's CSI to huddle even closer to Don under the wide umbrella.
The third had been after dark as well, but thankfully Don had been working night-shift and missed out on Ryan's panicked face as he stalked through the apartment like a caged animal.
Ryan had learned how to ride out storms and he was very well capable to endure the fear whenever it happened to assault him but this was worse. So much worse because Don was right here, right beside him. And what he feared more than the storms was that his lover might notice.
He was afraid of the questions he knew would come if Don caught on to his fear. He was frightened of the story he would have to tell and truly terrified of the words that would trigger pictures in his head he would rather keep buried deep inside his mind. And most of all he was afraid of the expression on Don's face if - when he found out. Horror. Betrayal? Anger.
Anger.
Oh God, he could endure every emotion on Don's face but not anger. Horror, yes. Even betrayal. But anger? No, he wouldn't be able to bear seeing anger. It was such a violent emotion as it distorted a human's face, warping it into an angry mask.
Quickly fishing out four of the pills as his heart-rate sped up once again, Ryan popped them into his mouth and washed them down with a few swigs of the glass of water he used to have on his bedside-drawer. Hurriedly he emptied the remnants of water after he'd swallowed the pills, hoping he could just drown the choking lump of fear crawling up his throat. His mouth felt parched and dry and his breathing hitched as he noticed the lump gradually moving upwards. He knew if he allowed it to ascend any further he would start whimpering words of fear and he couldn't do that, it would wake Don for sure.
Lightening bathed the room in blinding white and for a moment Ryan could have sworn he'd seen that person. Gripping his throat with a shaky hand Ryan leaped out of the bed and stood ready for fight or flight with knees shaking so badly he just wanted to crawl back under the covers again.
Pathetic.
Pathetic, yes. His fear was pathetic and Ryan knew he would rather take flight than fight. It had always been flight, so flight it would be.
With one last glance at the still figure in bed, Ryan closed the door to the bedroom as he slipped out. Good, Don was still asleep. He wouldn't know how to deal with him right now.
Outside he allowed himself a moment of frightened relief; relief about the fact he was leaning against the door rather than lying in bed on the other side, still suffering in silence forced by sheer power of will. He felt as if he'd sealed away a terrible dragon inside the room and he was relieved. It was pathetic.
Then panic hit him again and he needed to move.
Move, move, move. It was all he could do. 'Move' was the basic rule for flight, the only thing important. It was a driving need that hurt like a glass-shard and Ryan complied.
Without thinking Ryan stalked over to the bathroom, body sighing as a little bit of tension ebbed away by simply doing something.
He switched on the light and found himself hesitating for a second as he was faced with the prospect of entering a small, windowless room with no means of escape. This was flight though, right? So moving was essential and panic moved him - as it always did.
With movements that were far too knowing for his short stay at Don's apartment to be natural, Ryan opened a drawer to the left and pulled out a small sponge and a bottle of bleach.
The constricting tightness in his chest lessened a little as he started cleaning the bath-tub, not even bothering to pull on a pair of gloves as he panted and groaned silently with effort.
His fingers ached from the strain with which he held the sponge and scrubbed the tub, skin screaming with pain as it became red and dry. And still he couldn't stop.
He scrubbed the tub, the walls, the basin, the floor, the drawers. He even emptied the latter and cleaned the inside, only so he could arrange the contents anew. But the fear was still there.
Trembling with the effort to hold up because of the speed with which he'd forced himself to clean, Ryan slipped into the kitchen. He hadn't switched on the light which was an error but he had been too afraid Don would see since the kitchen was the room nearest to the bedroom.
Then lightening struck again and Ryan saw the shadows he was so afraid of ever since.
He gripped the sponge tighter at the increasing speed of his heart. Jaw set and teeth gritting so hard his dentist would cringe, Ryan worked on the stove. He hated the goosebumps spreading on his neck as he worked in the darkness but he tried to forget by scrubbing the metal surface as meticulously as he could.
~ A hand reached out from the shadows, gripping him, choking him.~
Ryan panted. Swallowed thickly. No, it couldn't happen again. Not today, not here... not now.
~ A face contorted with anger harbouring eyes of dark coal.~
A shiver raced up Ryan's body and he had to grip the edge of the counter to keep himself from folding in on himself. Oh God, why couldn't he forget? Why were those memories so fresh he could have sworn it had only happened yesterday? It hurt. It hurt so much.
~ “What did you tell them?! Why's the police out to find me?! What did you say, you fucker?!” ~
Ryan's eyes widened. Staring at the white-white stove, he couldn't see anything anymore, eyes fixed onto a similar stove that had been gone for a long, long time. He didn't hear the lone car passing by the window, he only heard the sound of storm, a storm that had raged years ago. Ridiculous how the present faded away to make place for the past. Ridiculous really... how afraid he was of something that had long passed.
~ A fist hit his face, again and again but he didn't notice, his own fingers buried into skin to try and keep a strong hand from choking him. Over him there was a face looming and what he could see despite the shadows of the night and the haze of dark spots dancing in front of his eyes, was truly terrifying. There was anger, so much anger. And there was the voice, hissing and throwing murderous words at him. ~
Ryan's body froze as it had back then. Mind caged in the fear of days long past. Somewhere deep within him he knew he'd done the same back then, he'd grown stiff when he'd been attacked in his own kitchen. He'd frozen like a coward.
~ “You told them, didn't you?! You told them I would abuse you! Admit it!!” The voice screaming at him broke from strain. Ryan's eyes were wide and frightened as he realised how much anger there really was. Would he die?
He didn't know how his ex-lover had succeeded in breaking into his apartment. He couldn't believe it might end like this when he'd finally found the courage to tell the police. How could he? How dumb had he been to trust their word as they promised he wouldn't ever hurt him again? How blind had he been to think they would be able to protect him? ~
Ryan jerked. His heart stuttered for an awful long moment before it resumed its maddening pace. He'd only barely survived that night. How come he had put his trust into a detective once again? Lightening.
~ Lightening. He could see his ex-lover's angered face as clearly as if it had been bathed in broad daylight, saw the mad glint in dark eyes that desired to kill.
Somehow Ryan knew he would die but this didn't make him prone to lay still, quite the contrary, Ryan struggled now, attacking the marble face above him instead of the hand choking him that just wouldn't budge.
“You fucking shit! You destroyed my life!!” the voice yelled, seemingly unfazed by Ryan's attempts to break free, but the grip around his neck lessened just a little. Ryan tried to knee him but the figure above him simply pushed down harder on his thighs. Ryan was desperate. It was a suffocating emotion and his chest hurt with the ache of it. It was like a ton of bricks weighing down on his body and mind. He was desperate. Desperate enough to beg. “Please”, he tried to plead with the man above him, ignoring the rasp of his bruised throat. “Let me go. I didn't mean to.”
A bout of pain flared up in his chest as a fist came down on it with enough force to shatter bone. Ryan registered the resounding crunch with hazy detachment only, as he struggled to breathe - he hadn't expected anything else. Whenever this man decided to hit him, he hit him for good. And God, he was strong.
How many times had he bandaged up broken ribs in the lone confinements of their apartment?
How many times had he studied his own swollen face in the mirror with the familiar emotional numbness of denial?
How many times had he covered the mirror with a blanket afterwards, trying to convince himself it had been just an accident? Just another one. The last one. Right? ~
Ryan scrubbed harder on the blank spot, not noticing the drops of blood he left on the gleaming surface. He'd long abraded the skin on his hands but no one was there to spot it and he himself was far too gone.
~ He stared up at the face above him through eyes swollen shut. His face felt like a balloon filled with cotton and scalding water. He didn't know anymore where his body ended and the floor began. Did he feel anything at all? Oh there was pain... so much pain. And fear.
He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the outlines of the man he'd loved any longer, only to open them up again when he felt hot breath against his ear. “You destroyed my life. Now I'll destroy yours as well.” Ryan screamed. ~
His whole body felt numb. He couldn't feel the metallic surface of the stove against hips nor the cold tiles beneath bis bare feet. It was like a trance and still so much worse. How had he been able to survive? How had he succeeded in holding out? When had he reached for the bottle opener, still lying discarded on the counter though it wasn't Ryan's nature to leave things scattered? How the hell had he gotten around to plunge the sharp object into his ex-lover's neck as if it was just a chunk of dead flesh? He remembered the way how the figure had screamed and how he'd tried to hit Ryan over and over just so he would stop driving the bottle opener into the body above him. His ex-lover's hands had been everywhere, on his face, his neck.. his shoulders, all to keep him from stabbing any further. In the end though.. he'd died.
Then a hand landed on his shoulder, jerking Ryan back into reality and causing him to whirl around like a creature possessed. “Let go of me!!” he yelled, his voice almost a screech and unfamiliar even to his own ears.
He had meant it in many, many ways and for one person only, but in front of him wasn't the person who'd almost killed him... but Don. And Don's palms were lifted in surrender which made Ryan feel even worse. His heart plummeted.
Ryan ached, both inside and outside; a pain he hadn't felt in a long, long time. If defeat felt like this, then he felt defeated a hundred times over. He sighed, utterly and completely exhausted. “I'm sorry.” There was nothing else to say and turning around he picked up the sponge he'd dropped when Don had touched him and started scrubbing again.
There was stunned silence.
“What for?” Don's voice resounded softly after a second or two. “It was me who startled you.”
Ryan gritted his teeth, “but I bet you didn't expect me to half attack you.” God, how he hated that his past still had such a good grip on him, even after such a long time. Maybe it would be better to tell Don this wouldn't work out. Maybe it was better to let go of his lover ere he hurt him for real.
Don stepped over to the stove, stilling Ryan's hand oh-so-softly with his own before he pried the sponge out of tense fingers and threw it into the sink. For a moment Don hesitated, then he gently opened Ryan's fists to examine the red, raw skin on his palms.
The kitchen was uncomfortably silent without the sound of scrubbing and Ryan forced himself not to look at Don, afraid of what he would see. But then Don's thumb started to caress the skin of Ryan's hand that wasn't all chapped and bloody and tears pricked at Ryan's eyes at this gesture of affection. He knew Don deserved to be with a man that wasn't defiled; one who wasn't ruled by his past. He deserved so much better. And yet.. it hurt so much to let him go. How could he let him go?
He might have sobbed because the next thing he knew was Don's loving voice as it commanded him to look at his face and strangely enough, he complied.
No matter his fear, he couldn't resist a request filled with so much love. And to Ryan's surprise Don's face wasn't contorted by anger or disgust, it was tinged with worry and understanding; eyes glistening with tears like his own. “No matter what you think, you don't need to hide from me”, Don said and palmed the side of Ryan's softly.
Ryan once again felt tightness constricting his throat and he swallowed thickly. “But you wouldn't understand!” His voice was full of something he didn't understand. It was desperation, Ryan noticed only a moment later. But for another reason entirely. He was desperate for Don to understand and at the same time not to. He was desperate for Don to say he would leave him... and at the same to say he would stay.
“Ryan”, Don called softly as he caught the younger man's gaze. “I do understand.”
“Y-You do...?” Was that fear in his voice? Or hope. Oh no, he shouldn't hope.
Don nodded softly. “Yes, I do.” He seemed to wait just a moment, but wait for what? For Ryan's eyes to fasten on his face? For Ryan to overcome the first initial panic and listen to him? To believe him? He didn't know but he did all of the things. “I've seen how you flinch when people are yelling, Ryan. Despite your attempt to hide it I have noticed how you take a step back when someone's angry. And I know the way you scan rooms whenever we enter our apartment. I know all those gestures, I've seen them far too often during my work at the police department.”
Ryan swallowed again. He wanted to writhe out of Don's gentle hold on his face but for once the hand tightened.
Don's voice toned down to a whisper. “I've known it the moment we met a year ago in Miami. You didn't need to say anything, I could see it in your eyes that never seemed to rest during our date.”
W-What? Green eyes widened. Don had known all along. Don hadn't noticed until after he'd moved in with him, he'd known it ever since their first date. And Don had asked him to live with him despite his knowledge. What did that make him?
A good man?
Or a fool.
Ryan took a deep breath. “Do you love me?”
Both of them knew the question wasn't voiced just to beg for TLC. It was the question, the one that was as unbelieving as it was hopeful. It was the question that was asked after a partner found out things about you you'd rather not have him know.
It was full of uncertainty and yet so full of hope.
Could he allow himself to hope?
Should he?
And Don did everything to reassure his lover, his hand on the younger man's face increasing its pressure just slightly. “Yes, I do.”
A soft sigh. Ryan couldn't deny the fact that despite him thinking of himself that he was a monster who'd killed a human, he was very much relieved that he was loved. He was loved. But was he loved all the way through? “Do you mind my past?”
Don's blue eyes didn't waver for a moment. “I have one myself.”
“Okay...”, Ryan said anxiously. Should he allow himself to be loved?
“Okay”, Don answered with a smile, telling him he better allowed it. He carded a possessive hand through short brown hair, eyes asking him to give in. Give in. Give in. Give in.
Ryan sobbed, heart opening up. “Hold me, please.”
“I would be glad to.” As always.