the slow burn
characters: Ryan Kesler / Kevin Bieksa (Vancouver Canucks)
summary: Kes is falling apart and it's all Kevin's fault
rating: Rrrrrr I'm a dinosaur
disclaimer: pretend-time, duh
It was a mutual agreement, something they never really talked about. But after Kevin’s first child was brought into the world, the ‘thing’ between them just stopped.
Ryan lays still in the King bed, his wife breathing softly next to him. For him though, sleep is light-years away.
Their daughter, their first born, his baby girl is fast asleep between her parents, a tiny thumb pressed between her lips.
Absently, Ryan runs his fingers over his lips, the feeling of Kevin’s pressing against his bottom lip still there when he pulls the fingers away.
Kevin.
He promised. He fucking promised that this would stop. He gave his goddamned word.
But he was the one, he was the one who leaned over the car’s console, grabbed Ryan’s tie and pressed their lips together desperately.
Or was that just Ryan’s own desperation seeping through? He isn’t so sure anymore.
The kiss was, it was…it just was. It was real, it happened.
Ryan could still feel Kevin’s stubble brush against his chin, feel the way his lips briefly grazed his own. It’s been so long. It’s been so fucking long.
It’s that moment when Ryan looks up and sees the crack forming above the bed.
It’s a thin black spider vein in the ceiling, winding its way through the white paint.
The kiss was the last straw.
Ryan pushed Kevin away and embarrassingly, slapped him across the face. Like a girl, like a fucking chick in a 1950s movie.
It’s just been too much.
You promised this would end. You fucking promised.
It’s been a month of Kevin taping up his socks and smiling that seductive, closed-lip smirk that Ryan just loves.
He can’t lie, he fucking loves it.
It’s been a month of Kevin pulling Ryan into a dark hallway and demolishing his resolve with one kiss and a roaming tongue going for the place that drives Ryan wild with desire.
She doesn’t know that move. And it’s not Ryan’s secret to divulge.
It’s been a month of Kevin pushing Ryan to his knees and fisting his hand in Ryan’s dark hair, growling, Take it like the bitch you are.
Ryan won’t admit it but he fucking loves when Kevin talks like that.
Opening his eyes, Ryan focuses on the thin crack in the ceiling.
It’s gotten larger, maybe, he blinks and squeezes his eyes shut and opens them. It’s slightly larger, the paint chipping off in chunky flakes.
Ryan turns his head to look at his wife; she’s still asleep, snoring softly. He debates waking her up to show her but doesn’t.
He tried to talk to Kevin, that one time they were in St. Louis, it was the perfect opportunity.
It lasted two sentences before Kevin closed the door in Ryan’s face.
Kevin shook his head, “I won’t say that I’m sorry because I don’t like to lie.”
He wouldn’t. Just like before.
Ryan doesn’t know what happened, what changed but something did. Kevin wasn’t giving any explanations of why he was back to holding Ryan’s hand during long flights.
Or why he was waiting for Ryan outside the elevator in Dallas, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
Or why his nails were biting half-moons into Ryan’s hips late that night.
There is no explanation and there never was.
Ryan blinks again, the fucking crack is wider. It’s opening to a canyon above his head, so deep there’s no end in sight.
It’s fucking black in there, dark like the endless ocean.
This isn’t his imagination anymore.
It’s been a month of Ryan shaking when he’s in a hotel shower, thinking of Kevin’s lips hot and insistent on his neck. The feel of Kevin’s lips and hands that used to be a distant memory.
It’s been a month where Ryan has barely touched a razor, too distracted and tired and uncaring to clean up the shadow that’s been there for longer than five o’clock.
The rings under his eyes are turning purple and puffy, sleep just out of his grasp every night, the dreams haunting him.
His hands shake when taping his stick. He knows it’s not nerves, they’re playing Florida, fucking joke of a team.
He’s been falling apart for a month. He knows it’s not a coincidence. It can’t be.
When Ryan does fall asleep, every dream starts the same; it’s simple and dark and blurred at the edges, like a memory that doesn’t want to be remembered.
Kevin is kissing along his jaw, down his neck. They’re in Manitoba and it’s dark in the bedroom of their old apartment.
And he always wakes up just before - right when Kevin’s fingertips stop lingering on the zipper and he gives Ryan that goddamn smirk. He’s always been a tease.
Ryan has always thought of Manitoba as the happiest days of his life.
That was when life was easier and all he worried about was making it to the big leagues. That was when Kevin smiled a lot. And when Ryan did too.
The canyon above him is widening and Ryan can see just pure blackness.
It’s hopeless and endless and stretches across the ceiling. Ryan is past the point of panic.
Well, this is the end. I am stopping this.
He reaches a hand up and can feel a black hole opening up at the center of the black canyon, beginning to gather strength and pull his fingers toward it.
Kevin hasn’t touched him in two and a half years, not since the funeral where he realized that Ryan was too far into family life to be his anymore.
But that night a month ago, when he reached over and grabbed Ryan’s tie and brought them closer than they had been in two and a half fucking years, something changed.
Teammates noticed the change, commented on how Kes was so silent and wondered aloud about what made him shut up for once.
And the goals. Or the lack thereof.
The goals stopped, just dried up like he had a finite amount in him this season and he had used them all up before the second half.
His wife would stare witheringly at him when he would scoot the broccoli around his plate, thoughts far far away and she knew he wasn’t there.
They would fight, argue about mundane things like why the cable bill was so high and who would drive the kids to her parent’s for the evening.
There was something changing in Ryan and he knew it.
He could feel it.
He could feel that pull, that need for a different life, that nagging feeling that he made the wrong choice.
But life was a series of choices and he made his. There isn’t a do-over, there isn’t a second life. Ryan can’t go back and change his mind.
Kevin’s insistent fingers and smirking mouth are a reminder of a life that he didn’t choose. They’re a constant weight on his conscience.
Ryan’s eyes snap up to the ceiling when he hears a loud cracking sound, like a rock splitting in two and the canyon is gone.
In its place is a giant black hole that swirls menacingly above him, the vortex smirking at him.
He sits up in the bed as the entire room begins to unravel in front of him like a tapestry that Arachnae didn’t like, the strings being pulled into the gaping black hole.
Looking to his right, Ryan sees his wife and baby girl begin to disintegrate in front of his eyes. He reaches out and grasps his daughter’s tiny hand but it falls apart in his fingers.
They’re disappearing like a charred photograph crumbling in a hand. The blackened pieces are being sucked into the black hole above them, dissolving in the blackness.
Everything is disappearing around him. Everything is being sucked into the black hole.
Ryan squeezes his eyes shut and prays to whatever god is watching over him, prays that this is a dream and his life isn’t literally unraveling around him.
Opening his eyes, Ryan breathes a deep sigh of relief.
Everything is fine, his wife is sound asleep, his daughter is still sucking her thumb and the ceiling is still above him, white and crack-free.
Ryan rubs his hands over his eyes, hands shaking.
It was like Kevin found the magic string that held Ryan together.
Kevin just smiled at Ryan’s pathetic attempt to sound confident, “You can’t end this”.
And he pulled.
Kevin pulled as hard as he fucking could on the fragile white string that held Ryan’s world together knowing the consequences.
summary: Kes is falling apart and it's all Kevin's fault
rating: Rrrrrr I'm a dinosaur
disclaimer: pretend-time, duh
It was a mutual agreement, something they never really talked about. But after Kevin’s first child was brought into the world, the ‘thing’ between them just stopped.
Ryan lays still in the King bed, his wife breathing softly next to him. For him though, sleep is light-years away.
Their daughter, their first born, his baby girl is fast asleep between her parents, a tiny thumb pressed between her lips.
Absently, Ryan runs his fingers over his lips, the feeling of Kevin’s pressing against his bottom lip still there when he pulls the fingers away.
Kevin.
He promised. He fucking promised that this would stop. He gave his goddamned word.
But he was the one, he was the one who leaned over the car’s console, grabbed Ryan’s tie and pressed their lips together desperately.
Or was that just Ryan’s own desperation seeping through? He isn’t so sure anymore.
The kiss was, it was…it just was. It was real, it happened.
Ryan could still feel Kevin’s stubble brush against his chin, feel the way his lips briefly grazed his own. It’s been so long. It’s been so fucking long.
It’s that moment when Ryan looks up and sees the crack forming above the bed.
It’s a thin black spider vein in the ceiling, winding its way through the white paint.
The kiss was the last straw.
Ryan pushed Kevin away and embarrassingly, slapped him across the face. Like a girl, like a fucking chick in a 1950s movie.
It’s just been too much.
You promised this would end. You fucking promised.
It’s been a month of Kevin taping up his socks and smiling that seductive, closed-lip smirk that Ryan just loves.
He can’t lie, he fucking loves it.
It’s been a month of Kevin pulling Ryan into a dark hallway and demolishing his resolve with one kiss and a roaming tongue going for the place that drives Ryan wild with desire.
She doesn’t know that move. And it’s not Ryan’s secret to divulge.
It’s been a month of Kevin pushing Ryan to his knees and fisting his hand in Ryan’s dark hair, growling, Take it like the bitch you are.
Ryan won’t admit it but he fucking loves when Kevin talks like that.
Opening his eyes, Ryan focuses on the thin crack in the ceiling.
It’s gotten larger, maybe, he blinks and squeezes his eyes shut and opens them. It’s slightly larger, the paint chipping off in chunky flakes.
Ryan turns his head to look at his wife; she’s still asleep, snoring softly. He debates waking her up to show her but doesn’t.
He tried to talk to Kevin, that one time they were in St. Louis, it was the perfect opportunity.
It lasted two sentences before Kevin closed the door in Ryan’s face.
Kevin shook his head, “I won’t say that I’m sorry because I don’t like to lie.”
He wouldn’t. Just like before.
Ryan doesn’t know what happened, what changed but something did. Kevin wasn’t giving any explanations of why he was back to holding Ryan’s hand during long flights.
Or why he was waiting for Ryan outside the elevator in Dallas, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
Or why his nails were biting half-moons into Ryan’s hips late that night.
There is no explanation and there never was.
Ryan blinks again, the fucking crack is wider. It’s opening to a canyon above his head, so deep there’s no end in sight.
It’s fucking black in there, dark like the endless ocean.
This isn’t his imagination anymore.
It’s been a month of Ryan shaking when he’s in a hotel shower, thinking of Kevin’s lips hot and insistent on his neck. The feel of Kevin’s lips and hands that used to be a distant memory.
It’s been a month where Ryan has barely touched a razor, too distracted and tired and uncaring to clean up the shadow that’s been there for longer than five o’clock.
The rings under his eyes are turning purple and puffy, sleep just out of his grasp every night, the dreams haunting him.
His hands shake when taping his stick. He knows it’s not nerves, they’re playing Florida, fucking joke of a team.
He’s been falling apart for a month. He knows it’s not a coincidence. It can’t be.
When Ryan does fall asleep, every dream starts the same; it’s simple and dark and blurred at the edges, like a memory that doesn’t want to be remembered.
Kevin is kissing along his jaw, down his neck. They’re in Manitoba and it’s dark in the bedroom of their old apartment.
And he always wakes up just before - right when Kevin’s fingertips stop lingering on the zipper and he gives Ryan that goddamn smirk. He’s always been a tease.
Ryan has always thought of Manitoba as the happiest days of his life.
That was when life was easier and all he worried about was making it to the big leagues. That was when Kevin smiled a lot. And when Ryan did too.
The canyon above him is widening and Ryan can see just pure blackness.
It’s hopeless and endless and stretches across the ceiling. Ryan is past the point of panic.
Well, this is the end. I am stopping this.
He reaches a hand up and can feel a black hole opening up at the center of the black canyon, beginning to gather strength and pull his fingers toward it.
Kevin hasn’t touched him in two and a half years, not since the funeral where he realized that Ryan was too far into family life to be his anymore.
But that night a month ago, when he reached over and grabbed Ryan’s tie and brought them closer than they had been in two and a half fucking years, something changed.
Teammates noticed the change, commented on how Kes was so silent and wondered aloud about what made him shut up for once.
And the goals. Or the lack thereof.
The goals stopped, just dried up like he had a finite amount in him this season and he had used them all up before the second half.
His wife would stare witheringly at him when he would scoot the broccoli around his plate, thoughts far far away and she knew he wasn’t there.
They would fight, argue about mundane things like why the cable bill was so high and who would drive the kids to her parent’s for the evening.
There was something changing in Ryan and he knew it.
He could feel it.
He could feel that pull, that need for a different life, that nagging feeling that he made the wrong choice.
But life was a series of choices and he made his. There isn’t a do-over, there isn’t a second life. Ryan can’t go back and change his mind.
Kevin’s insistent fingers and smirking mouth are a reminder of a life that he didn’t choose. They’re a constant weight on his conscience.
Ryan’s eyes snap up to the ceiling when he hears a loud cracking sound, like a rock splitting in two and the canyon is gone.
In its place is a giant black hole that swirls menacingly above him, the vortex smirking at him.
He sits up in the bed as the entire room begins to unravel in front of him like a tapestry that Arachnae didn’t like, the strings being pulled into the gaping black hole.
Looking to his right, Ryan sees his wife and baby girl begin to disintegrate in front of his eyes. He reaches out and grasps his daughter’s tiny hand but it falls apart in his fingers.
They’re disappearing like a charred photograph crumbling in a hand. The blackened pieces are being sucked into the black hole above them, dissolving in the blackness.
Everything is disappearing around him. Everything is being sucked into the black hole.
Ryan squeezes his eyes shut and prays to whatever god is watching over him, prays that this is a dream and his life isn’t literally unraveling around him.
Opening his eyes, Ryan breathes a deep sigh of relief.
Everything is fine, his wife is sound asleep, his daughter is still sucking her thumb and the ceiling is still above him, white and crack-free.
Ryan rubs his hands over his eyes, hands shaking.
It was like Kevin found the magic string that held Ryan together.
Kevin just smiled at Ryan’s pathetic attempt to sound confident, “You can’t end this”.
And he pulled.
Kevin pulled as hard as he fucking could on the fragile white string that held Ryan’s world together knowing the consequences.