New Fic - Eric/Ryan
Title: Before You Were Mine
Author: raingoddess2040
Character(s): Eric Delko, Ryan Wolfe, mentions of Delko Family and OC
Pairing(s): Eric/Ryan, past Eric/OC
Fandom(s): CSI: Miami
Rating: FRT
Warning(s): angst, implied rape/abuse, slash
Spoiler(s): None
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything but the plot. I can’t afford anything else.
A/N: First foray into the dark side… I never write Eric/Ryan, nor have I read any (well, maybe a few). Be afraid. Be very afraid.
A/N #2: The name for this fic is taken from a poem with the same name by the amazing Carol Ann Duffy. Please read her poetry for it is greatness. It really has nothing much to do with the fic, but, oh well.
“$”^“$”^“$”^“$”^“$”^“$”
Ryan's POV
When I first saw you, I think that I fell in love with you on site.
After working with you, I thought you were a jerk until it was vaguely explained to me what you had lost to create my place on the team. I thought you were being dramatic, until I spoke to Horatio and he told exactly who Tim Speedle was to you. I almost hated myself on your behalf.
I had to wait three months to finally get a date from you.
You told me later on that you thought that I had been joking and that that was the reason that kept insisting that it wasn’t funny to say things like that. I remember the look on your face when you realized that I was serious. You looked shocked and slightly pleased, but, also, suspicious and wary. I didn’t realize until much later that I was only the third man you’d ever dated.
The first time you went down on me, you vomited for a good while afterwards.
You came back into our bedroom later, lay down and pulled me close, whispering words of apology. I heard the undercurrent of ‘it’s not you, it’s me’, but didn’t understand then how true it was.
I only found out later - from your mother, of all people - that someone had forced you to perform that act so long ago and practically choked you to death.
I never asked again, but you did it again and again, getting better or getting worse. I wonder now if the loss of that something in your eyes has something to do with me or something to do with then.
You never let me top for a while, not even riding you and we always had to make love with the lights on. You always had your shirt on, too. I never saw much of your body. There were no quickies in closets or bathrooms and no rendezvous' in alleys.
I've come to find out that you're afraid of the dark, for more reasons than the one and that claustrophobia never occurs when you're on your own or working. What did he do to you?
When I first told you that I you were beautiful, you looked so afraid before you laughed it off. I kept at it and every time, you tried to laugh of my compliments. I thought maybe you were modest, but now I see that you know exactly what you look like and you hate it. I recognized the look of pain in your eyes after I spoke to your sister. She told me of the things he said and God, how did you live with that?
You were afraid to move in with me and every time I asked, you’d shy away. I thought that maybe you just liked your apartment better or didn’t want to take that step until I found out that he had lived in the same building and that you had to fight yourself just to come see me.
When I told that I loved you, you stopped speaking to me for a week. I was distraught. You didn’t come in to work for the week after that. I went by your place and called you several times. You never answered. I was ready to just let myself in using the spare key and demand an answer until your sister called me. She was in hysterics. And when I got there, I went in using the key and found you in her arms feverish and deathly thin and I couldn’t help but know that it was somehow my fault.
When you got better you apologized profusely and we made love. I demanded to see all of you and you let me. It was the first time you were completely naked in front of me. I hated myself so much more when I finally saw the scars. It almost looked as if he had gouged the words into your flesh as some sort of mockery of your feelings. You wouldn’t look me in the eye and that destroyed me. How did you even survive?
Your family barbeque was supposed to be great and it was, mostly, except for the end. I hated what happened then. Your father literally had to stop me from almost attacking your oldest sister’s husband.
I had met and spoke to different members of your family, but up until then it had only been out of concern for you; I had never just met them all before. Your mom, dad and two of your sisters were great to me, and your nieces and nephews were so adorable. I thought it was going to be even better when your oldest sister showed up and everyone was pleased, but then I saw her face and the rest of your family’s and knew that something was wrong. And when I saw your face, I knew that something bad was coming. Your sister came to you and hugged you tightly, whispering promises of quick departures and things best left unsaid. I didn’t understand until you brother-in-law walked in and his first words were, “Hey, look at the Fag Boys!”
Our first anniversary was a shocker. Your parents were surprised and very pleased that you’d been able to stay with me for so long. Your sisters were grateful to me for things I’m not even sure I deserve to be thanked for. You gave me some presents sure, but the best present was simply having you with me without you being so afraid.
Unfortunately, our reverie didn’t last. How could it? I had reservations at a certain restaurant and as soon as we drove up, I saw all the strength you’d gained fly out the window. I’ve come to find out that that restaurant is the place he always took you and I hated myself for so long after that. You told me that it was okay and I prayed to God that it would be, someday.
I know all of these things, but I don’t know the identity of the person who hurt you. I doubt that anyone - yourself included - will tell me. I want you to tell me and yet I don’t. Whenever I ask, you say that it doesn’t matter anymore because there’s nothing I can do. It’s already been dealt with. I want to know. I want to kill him. Your words make me think that maybe you already did.
You’re my Russian-Cuban, Catholic boy, but I have to wonder whose you were before you were mine.
~Fin~
A/N #3: Haha!!! I did it! and it's over a thousand words! This is a one-shot people... >.> <.< however, i can be convinced to write drabbles about this fic, if you really like it, that is.