Under The Dim Lights [sean/ryan][s/a]
Title: Under The Dim Lights
Pairing/Character(s): Sean Van Vleet/Ryan Luciani
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Ryan gets mugged.
Ryan hums and Sean stands, turning to one of the drawers next to the oven that barely works, pulling out a plastic Ziploc bag. He then turns to the freezer, getting a couple of handfuls of ice and throwing them into the bag. One slips from his grip and falls to the kitchen floor. Sean ignores it.
Warning: Sort of detailed talk of bruises/wounds
Beta: coldmero
Word Count: 1,407
A/N: for the hc_bingo prompt, 'bruises'. Thanks to restlesslikeme for helping me with this idea and coldmero for putting up with my whining even though this is short and beta'ing.
Sean is used to Ryan not coming home until pretty late. Usually, he expects him by midnight - he sits at the couch and eats some of the popcorn he makes at eleven thirty and watches a bad horror showing on one of the channels they got from their half-stolen cable. Since they don’t get every program - it’s only half.
Tom is in New York again so it’s getting kind of lonely, what with Sean all alone and on the couch and watching Chucky all alone in the dark.
All alone.
Sean huffs and pulls up the guide on the television, the image of Chucky and his doll wife or what the fuck ever cutting off the head of some dude Sean’s forgotten the name of shrinking to the corner, checking the time.
It’s almost two in the morning.
“The fuck…” Sean mutters, “how wasted could he get? He knows to take the goddamn taxi if he’s too drunk…”
Sean is contemplating whether or not he’s crazy for talking to himself and whether or not he should call Ryan when the door clicks.
Sighing with relief, Sean stands, leaving the remote on the couch, and peeks into the front hall. Ryan has his back to Sean, pulling his jacket off and throwing his scarf to the ground.
“Dude, where the fuck have you been, I was worrying my fucking ass off…”
When Ryan turns around, Sean’s breath chokes up in his throat and his heart stops a bit.
Blooming on Ryan’s face, around his eye and over it, is a large, blue bruise, and his bottom lip is split - dried, caked blood on his mouth and chin. There’s blood on his forehead, too, a large scrape bleeding at his hairline like he had his head slammed into concrete or brick. Sean shudders involuntarily.
“I…” Sean pauses, unable to speak. He finally manages a soft, “Holy shit.”
Ryan lets out a long sigh, the first real noise he’s made since walking in. “I got fucking mugged,” he says, and hisses as if the words hurt him. They probably do. “I think…they might have - fuck - broken a rib or - some shit.”
Sean is stuck in place for a minute, but then he steps forward, wrapping his fingers gently around Ryan’s wrist. “Come here,” he murmurs, and Ryan obeys with his eyes on the floor, refusing to look at Sean - they walk (though in Ryan’s case, it’s more of a half-limp, half-hobble) slowly into the kitchen together, Sean’s heart still racing. This is surreal.
Sean helps Ryan to sit down, though his eyes are still cast down. “Hey, hey, I’m here, are you okay? Are you in shock?” he asks, unsure if he should be touching Ryan or not - his hand just hovers near his shoulder.
Ryan glares up at Sean weakly. “Shut the fuck up…I’m pissed.”
Sean takes this opportunity to gently hold Ryan’s chin - he flinches anyway, muttering a soft “Ow…” under his breath. Sean’s heart is breaking.
“What happened?” Sean asks, his words quiet - he’s almost scared to hear the story.
“I was…drunk. I’m still drunk.”
“Yeah.”
“Dragged into an alley…it wasn’t pretty. Should have just given them my goddamn wallet, but no, I decided to be stubborn…three to one, they beat the living shit out of me. Faggot, faggot, faggot…”
Sean frowns, brushing his thumb over the bruise over Ryan’s eye. Ryan flinches and Sean rests his hand back on his chin.“Why do you say that? The last part.”
“It seemed to be their favorite word, I guess. Do I like, look like a flaming homo or something? I mean, yeah, they were right to assume” - here, Sean and Ryan both smile a little - “but still, is it that obvious?”
“People are bastards,” Sean tells him quietly, not really answering his question. “You think they broke a rib?”
“I dunno.”
“Stay still, okay?”
Ryan hums and Sean stands, turning to one of the drawers next to the oven that barely works, pulling out a plastic Ziploc bag. He then turns to the freezer, getting a couple of handfuls of ice and throwing them into the bag. One slips from his grip and falls to the kitchen floor. Sean ignores it.
“Take off your shirt,” Sean commands, and with a tiny sigh Ryan does as he’s told. Sean flinches at the sight and begins to chew on his lip, crouching in front of Ryan again. Ryan’s ribs are blossoming with bruises similar to the one on his face, colored a sickening black and blue, tinges of green underneath. They’ll turn yellow in a couple of weeks, Sean thinks. He presses the ice against Ryan’s ribcage and listens as he hisses.
“Shit, Sean,” Ryan murmurs as Sean continues to press the ice carefully against each of the big, flower bruises across his ribcage. “I don’t think I broke anything anymore, but fuck, that hurts.”
“Yeah, well, trying to get down the swelling…I don’t know, I’m a little more worried about your face.” Sean lifts the plastic bag from Ryan’s chest and presses it, careful again, to Ryan’s mouth. Ryan closes his eyes and hums again, though it comes out almost broken. “Hush,” Sean tells him softly, moving the bag of ice. He kisses Ryan’s cold, split lip and tastes the blood without much effort.
Ryan kisses back, just a little, his hand moving from his leg to touch the side of Sean’s face. “What d’you think?” he asks, and Sean kisses him a little harder, though not painfully, his hands resting on either side of Ryan’s face.
“What d’you mean?” he asks.
“Do I look pretty, even if I do look like shit? I haven’t seen my face, man.”
Sean chuckles a little, though it kind of hurts his own chest - differently, of course, but still. “Yeah, Ry, you’re beautiful. How could I tell you anything else?”
Ryan laughs and then coughs - he follows it up with a tired groan. “Fuck, that hurts.”
“Come on, come on,” Sean murmurs as he stands, still holding the bag of ice. Ryan looks up at him, tired and a little broken, and sighs.
“I don’t want to move,” he admits, and Sean wants to cry for the face Ryan’s making.
“You have to. Come on. We can cuddle. I don’t care. I can sleep on the floor. But you need to rest.”
“Okay,” Ryan finally agrees, taking Sean’s hand (he entwines their fingers and Sean squeezes them with a smile, knowing that his hand is okay so he can do what he wants, and Ryan squeezes back) as they move down the tiny hallway to the room Sean and Tom normally share.
Sean helps Ryan strip off his jeans, tugging at them slowly - Ryan’s got a couple of scrapes over his legs, and his jeans are ripped at the knee (Ryan says, quietly, when Sean looks at him questioningly, They threw me against the ground, but he sounds like he’s embarrassed, not in pain) but otherwise his bottom half seems pretty intact.
“Do you wanna shower or something?” Sean asks as Ryan sits down slowly on the bed. He shakes his head.
“I just want to sleep, honestly.” Ryan looks up again and gives a little half smile and Sean’s heart breaks a little again. Somehow Ryan’s still gorgeous.
“’Kay…” Sean agrees, and Ryan scoots over as Sean pulls back the sheets, ushering Ryan under them and adjusting them over him carefully. Ryan’s eyes are already fluttering shut as Sean begins to strip off his own shirt and jeans. He crawls into the cramped bed next to Ryan and envelopes him in his arms - Ryan doesn’t make any sound of protest, just a quiet grunt that sounds more satisfied than anything. “G’night,” Sean murmurs against Ryan’s hair, kissing his ear and then the bruise on his face.
Ryan hums, murmuring a quiet, “Thank you.” They’re both silent for a moment, and Sean thinks maybe Ryan is asleep before he says, voice still quiet and breathy, “I don’t think I can pay rent this month…I’m sorry.”
Sean cards his fingers through Ryan’s hair and shuffles closer so they’re sharing more body warmth. “Don’t worry…I’ll just make Tom pay extra for disappearing. We’ll just blame this all on him…”
Ryan whispers something else, but it’s muffled as he presses his face to Sean’s throat. Sean goes completely still as Ryan’s lips move, and then he smiles, content with the kiss left on his skin.
Pairing/Character(s): Sean Van Vleet/Ryan Luciani
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Ryan gets mugged.
Ryan hums and Sean stands, turning to one of the drawers next to the oven that barely works, pulling out a plastic Ziploc bag. He then turns to the freezer, getting a couple of handfuls of ice and throwing them into the bag. One slips from his grip and falls to the kitchen floor. Sean ignores it.
Warning: Sort of detailed talk of bruises/wounds
Beta: coldmero
Word Count: 1,407
A/N: for the hc_bingo prompt, 'bruises'. Thanks to restlesslikeme for helping me with this idea and coldmero for putting up with my whining even though this is short and beta'ing.
Sean is used to Ryan not coming home until pretty late. Usually, he expects him by midnight - he sits at the couch and eats some of the popcorn he makes at eleven thirty and watches a bad horror showing on one of the channels they got from their half-stolen cable. Since they don’t get every program - it’s only half.
Tom is in New York again so it’s getting kind of lonely, what with Sean all alone and on the couch and watching Chucky all alone in the dark.
All alone.
Sean huffs and pulls up the guide on the television, the image of Chucky and his doll wife or what the fuck ever cutting off the head of some dude Sean’s forgotten the name of shrinking to the corner, checking the time.
It’s almost two in the morning.
“The fuck…” Sean mutters, “how wasted could he get? He knows to take the goddamn taxi if he’s too drunk…”
Sean is contemplating whether or not he’s crazy for talking to himself and whether or not he should call Ryan when the door clicks.
Sighing with relief, Sean stands, leaving the remote on the couch, and peeks into the front hall. Ryan has his back to Sean, pulling his jacket off and throwing his scarf to the ground.
“Dude, where the fuck have you been, I was worrying my fucking ass off…”
When Ryan turns around, Sean’s breath chokes up in his throat and his heart stops a bit.
Blooming on Ryan’s face, around his eye and over it, is a large, blue bruise, and his bottom lip is split - dried, caked blood on his mouth and chin. There’s blood on his forehead, too, a large scrape bleeding at his hairline like he had his head slammed into concrete or brick. Sean shudders involuntarily.
“I…” Sean pauses, unable to speak. He finally manages a soft, “Holy shit.”
Ryan lets out a long sigh, the first real noise he’s made since walking in. “I got fucking mugged,” he says, and hisses as if the words hurt him. They probably do. “I think…they might have - fuck - broken a rib or - some shit.”
Sean is stuck in place for a minute, but then he steps forward, wrapping his fingers gently around Ryan’s wrist. “Come here,” he murmurs, and Ryan obeys with his eyes on the floor, refusing to look at Sean - they walk (though in Ryan’s case, it’s more of a half-limp, half-hobble) slowly into the kitchen together, Sean’s heart still racing. This is surreal.
Sean helps Ryan to sit down, though his eyes are still cast down. “Hey, hey, I’m here, are you okay? Are you in shock?” he asks, unsure if he should be touching Ryan or not - his hand just hovers near his shoulder.
Ryan glares up at Sean weakly. “Shut the fuck up…I’m pissed.”
Sean takes this opportunity to gently hold Ryan’s chin - he flinches anyway, muttering a soft “Ow…” under his breath. Sean’s heart is breaking.
“What happened?” Sean asks, his words quiet - he’s almost scared to hear the story.
“I was…drunk. I’m still drunk.”
“Yeah.”
“Dragged into an alley…it wasn’t pretty. Should have just given them my goddamn wallet, but no, I decided to be stubborn…three to one, they beat the living shit out of me. Faggot, faggot, faggot…”
Sean frowns, brushing his thumb over the bruise over Ryan’s eye. Ryan flinches and Sean rests his hand back on his chin.“Why do you say that? The last part.”
“It seemed to be their favorite word, I guess. Do I like, look like a flaming homo or something? I mean, yeah, they were right to assume” - here, Sean and Ryan both smile a little - “but still, is it that obvious?”
“People are bastards,” Sean tells him quietly, not really answering his question. “You think they broke a rib?”
“I dunno.”
“Stay still, okay?”
Ryan hums and Sean stands, turning to one of the drawers next to the oven that barely works, pulling out a plastic Ziploc bag. He then turns to the freezer, getting a couple of handfuls of ice and throwing them into the bag. One slips from his grip and falls to the kitchen floor. Sean ignores it.
“Take off your shirt,” Sean commands, and with a tiny sigh Ryan does as he’s told. Sean flinches at the sight and begins to chew on his lip, crouching in front of Ryan again. Ryan’s ribs are blossoming with bruises similar to the one on his face, colored a sickening black and blue, tinges of green underneath. They’ll turn yellow in a couple of weeks, Sean thinks. He presses the ice against Ryan’s ribcage and listens as he hisses.
“Shit, Sean,” Ryan murmurs as Sean continues to press the ice carefully against each of the big, flower bruises across his ribcage. “I don’t think I broke anything anymore, but fuck, that hurts.”
“Yeah, well, trying to get down the swelling…I don’t know, I’m a little more worried about your face.” Sean lifts the plastic bag from Ryan’s chest and presses it, careful again, to Ryan’s mouth. Ryan closes his eyes and hums again, though it comes out almost broken. “Hush,” Sean tells him softly, moving the bag of ice. He kisses Ryan’s cold, split lip and tastes the blood without much effort.
Ryan kisses back, just a little, his hand moving from his leg to touch the side of Sean’s face. “What d’you think?” he asks, and Sean kisses him a little harder, though not painfully, his hands resting on either side of Ryan’s face.
“What d’you mean?” he asks.
“Do I look pretty, even if I do look like shit? I haven’t seen my face, man.”
Sean chuckles a little, though it kind of hurts his own chest - differently, of course, but still. “Yeah, Ry, you’re beautiful. How could I tell you anything else?”
Ryan laughs and then coughs - he follows it up with a tired groan. “Fuck, that hurts.”
“Come on, come on,” Sean murmurs as he stands, still holding the bag of ice. Ryan looks up at him, tired and a little broken, and sighs.
“I don’t want to move,” he admits, and Sean wants to cry for the face Ryan’s making.
“You have to. Come on. We can cuddle. I don’t care. I can sleep on the floor. But you need to rest.”
“Okay,” Ryan finally agrees, taking Sean’s hand (he entwines their fingers and Sean squeezes them with a smile, knowing that his hand is okay so he can do what he wants, and Ryan squeezes back) as they move down the tiny hallway to the room Sean and Tom normally share.
Sean helps Ryan strip off his jeans, tugging at them slowly - Ryan’s got a couple of scrapes over his legs, and his jeans are ripped at the knee (Ryan says, quietly, when Sean looks at him questioningly, They threw me against the ground, but he sounds like he’s embarrassed, not in pain) but otherwise his bottom half seems pretty intact.
“Do you wanna shower or something?” Sean asks as Ryan sits down slowly on the bed. He shakes his head.
“I just want to sleep, honestly.” Ryan looks up again and gives a little half smile and Sean’s heart breaks a little again. Somehow Ryan’s still gorgeous.
“’Kay…” Sean agrees, and Ryan scoots over as Sean pulls back the sheets, ushering Ryan under them and adjusting them over him carefully. Ryan’s eyes are already fluttering shut as Sean begins to strip off his own shirt and jeans. He crawls into the cramped bed next to Ryan and envelopes him in his arms - Ryan doesn’t make any sound of protest, just a quiet grunt that sounds more satisfied than anything. “G’night,” Sean murmurs against Ryan’s hair, kissing his ear and then the bruise on his face.
Ryan hums, murmuring a quiet, “Thank you.” They’re both silent for a moment, and Sean thinks maybe Ryan is asleep before he says, voice still quiet and breathy, “I don’t think I can pay rent this month…I’m sorry.”
Sean cards his fingers through Ryan’s hair and shuffles closer so they’re sharing more body warmth. “Don’t worry…I’ll just make Tom pay extra for disappearing. We’ll just blame this all on him…”
Ryan whispers something else, but it’s muffled as he presses his face to Sean’s throat. Sean goes completely still as Ryan’s lips move, and then he smiles, content with the kiss left on his skin.