New Fic: Cowardly Acts (3a/4)
Cowardly Acts, by Fabella (wistful_fever)
The O.C., Seth/Ryan, NC-17.
Slash, Long, Future Fic.
Summary
Seth Cohen: twenty years old, unspecified major, neurotic mess.
Disclaimer
Not mine, no money, don’t sue, yadda, yadda, you know the drill.
Notes
This is set while Ryan and Seth are attending an unspecified college together, and likely to be made AU in the next couple of years. Also, I began writing this before a lot of the events of mid-season two took place (then took a long break from it, before returning recently), so it’s already AU in some ways.
A new part should be posted weekly or bi-monthly, after the editing process.
Go Back To Part One, Part Two
Cowardly Acts, part 3a/4, by Fabella
Additional Notes: There WILL be a part 3b/4. Normally, I would post it all together, but I don't want to make people wait, but at the same time, I don't want to post something that isn't polished to my liking. (It's a lengthy process to make me not hate my writing, trust me.)
* * *
Seth was on his stomach on his bed flipping through the pages of an old school book, wondering where his and Ryan’s unbeatable combination had gone wrong, when Sandy came into the bedroom without knocking. Seth marked his place and closed the book, pushing himself up into a seated position. His father picked the book up and sat where it had, next to Seth’s side. He took a steadying breath before speaking, which was just never good in Seth’s extensive experiences with being lectured.
“We need to talk.”
“If this is about putting me out with the trash, don’t worry. I got hook-ups dad, plenty of places to stay,” Seth said. It wasn’t exactly the truth, because he’d pissed Josh off by never showing up, and then not returning his calls, and apparently everyone in the known world hated Seth right now. Which was nothing new. “I’m outta here tomorrow, pops, I swear.”
“It’s not about that.” Sandy ran a hand over the glossy cover, then placed the book in his lap, thumb on the binding. “I want you to come down to dinner.”
“You look like someone died. Is Mom cooking?” Seth stretched his legs out and fell backward on the bed listlessly. His hand landed on his belly, which had been as tentative as a virgin prom date since he’d picked up the phone that morning and Ryan had been on the other end. Seth had answered while muting the volume on the television, and there had been a pause before Ryan asked if he could talk to Sandy. Boom-boom; Seth’s heart had cha-cha’d right out of his chest and he’d dropped the phone into his cereal bowl. “I’m not hungry.”
“We have company.” Sandy squeezed Seth’s knee. “You need to come down.”
“Don’t tell me you invited the Cooper-Nichols over again. Will mom ever learn that alcohol, take-out, and vaguely incestuous overtones are never a good mix?”
“Seth.” The seriousness of his dad’s tone made Seth look at him, and Seth found that Sandy’s eyes were shaded by the dim light of the room, and when he twisted to face Seth more fully, he was wearing the lawyer face. “Ryan’s here.”
Seth’s knee jerked under Sandy’s hand, his own hand flailing for purchase and finding the edge of the mattress. Spun up, he tried to hold himself to the planet, but didn’t have much luck, because the last thing he’d been expecting was a civil war. An attack from within. The sheet sprung free, snapping against his knuckles, and Ryan had.
“What? Dad, you didn’t!”
Ryan had-Seth squeezed his eyes shut.
He envisioned a panic button. It was red and huge, sitting at the center of a brightly lit room, with a sign hanging over it emblazoned with the words ‘for emergency use only’. He saw his hand hover over it, before he managed to tremble backwards and away from the temptation. He’d felt like this before.
“You two need to talk,” Sandy said. “You can’t keep dancing around each other.”
For a long time, until about the age of eleven, he’d been forced to have an inhaler on him at all the times. He’d kept it on a string around his neck until he finally convinced his parents to let him leave it at home. Psychosomatic, the doctors had told his parents when they took Seth to the emergency room after one of his attacks. The doctor had seen it before, mostly in kids going through rough developmental periods. She’d asked his parents if he had any friends, and Sandy and Kirsten had looked at each other, then at Seth, who was sitting on the exam table, hard white lights flickering at a barely perceptible pace on his bare shoulders. The paper sheet crackled under his butt.
An elephant could have sat on Seth’s chest just then, and there wouldn’t have been any air left to squash out of him.
“He’s part of this family, too,” Sandy was saying.
Except family wasn’t supposed to give other family orgasms that took off the tops of their heads. Or any type of orgasms actually. Unless you were a Cooper-Nichol, because then it was almost socially acceptable.
Ryan had kissed him so hard, and so hot, and squeezed his ribs until Seth thought he was going to pop like a hot water balloon. He’d pressed Seth against the sink, held Seth’s bottom lip between his teeth, and holding both their breaths somewhere inside his own chest, where Seth couldn’t catch it-couldn’t find it, it was gone again, no, no, don’t want to be that kid again-Ryan had slipped his hand inside Seth’s boxers and scratched his fingers through Seth’s pubic hair.
Sandy was continuing his rant, but Seth was not willing or emotionally prepared to mix Sandy’s voice in with thoughts of a pubic hair nature.
Don’t think about pubic hair, Seth thought at his brain sternly, and then tried to gain some measure of control over his breathing, so his dad didn’t know how close he was to devolving about a decade. Sandy was seated at the corner of his vision, just a blur with dark hair really as he kept talking, his mouth moving, apparently very serious about whatever he was telling Seth. And there was an elephant in the room with them.
A big, pink, and prancing elephant named Ryan. Seth glared at it righteously from his reclined position. It did a little dance in its bright tutu, but Seth wasn’t amused. Screw feeling guilty, this was Ryan’s fault, because Ryan had jerked Seth off in the bathroom, jerked Seth off like the best thing ever was the feel of Seth’s cock in his hand. He’d made Seth come, then creamed his jeans while humping the skin right off of Seth’s thigh. And after, very softly and in a fragile way, he’d kissed Seth’s cheek.
“He’s not a fish,” Sandy had moved on to saying, in full blown lecture mode, and Seth’s blinked. Ryan as a fish hadn’t occurred to him, and he never wanted it to again, because that was his and Summer’s specialty. “You don’t get to throw him back in the water because you have one little fight.” Sandy looked over, sighed, and snapped his fingers in front of Seth’s face. “Yo! Is my son in there with that blank stare? Any of this registering?”
“Sure,” Seth said, with the same blank stare.
“And?”
“*And* that’s not what I think! I don’t want to throw him back, I just-” The words weren’t coming to him. See, this was why he had never written a Hallmark card. Seth groaned and dragged a pillow over his face, smothering a harassed groan. No one was on his side, and he had to remember that. Explaining wouldn’t get him anywhere, anyway, so it didn’t matter that he couldn’t figure out how to. “Fine, I’ll be right down.”
Sandy tugged on the pillow, but Seth held onto it tightly.
“Okay,” Sandy said slowly, and his weight left the bed. “I’m giving you five minutes to appear downstairs with a bright smile and fresh clothes. Don’t show up, and I’ll call in the reinforcements.” Sandy, like Summer, appreciated the value of dramatic timing. He took the opportunity for a hefty pause, then said, “I’ll tell your mother.”
“No one likes a tattle tale,” Seth growled behind the pillow.
Sandy laughed the entire way out of Seth’s room, like a demented dictator’s husband should laugh when it wasn’t him getting the whip that night. When Seth heard the door close, he threw the pillow off and jumped out of bed, bringing the blankets to the floor with him as he stumbled over his own feet. He peeked around the corner, just to make sure his dad was really gone, then grabbed his overnight bag, and began hurriedly throwing all of his stuff into it.
He didn’t think about what he was doing. He didn’t think about what his parents and Ryan would think of him when the reinforcements arrived and discovered Seth had gone AWOL. He just scrambled around a lot, tried not to make too much noise, and spent way too much time searching for his mp3 player.
The window stuck when he tried to lift it. Cursing, Seth struggled with it, longing for the days of old when he’d been able to slip out of the house during the middle of the night with a minimum of strained muscles, and finally managed to jerk it open enough that he could squeeze through. Carefully, he climbed down to the first floor, and swung himself to the patio, landing with a soft thump, just in front of the kitchen doors.
With their tall, bare windows.
Oops.
Not that it mattered where he had landed because his dad had his mom pinned against the refrigerator and was eating her mouth like she was an open bag of cheetos and he’d just peeled his lips off the bong. Seth had plenty of experience with walking in on his parents like this, and never *ever* had that been okay. Seth kind of stood there for a moment, right in plain sight, and was quietly horrified.
Kirsten slid her hands up Sandy's back, and they made as if to turn toward Seth and continue what they had been doing right there on the table. With that disturbing image---he had EATEN on that table---Seth shook himself out of his private hell, and ducked away from the doors. He raced into the shadows, hurrying around the side of the house, promising himself the entire way that he would rip his eyes out at the earliest available opportunity. The drive was mostly dark as he approached it, his sneakers scuffing his shoes on the pavement, and Seth breathed a little easier when he saw Ryan hadn’t blocked his car in.
And then a lighter flicked on, separating a face from the black not three feet from Seth. Seth yelped and skidded to halt. He overbalanced, slipping on pebbles that gave way under his clumsy footwork, and landed on his ass, the stars shaking above him, his ears ringing. Ryan lit his cigarette serenely, cheeks hollowing, and without smiling or making any noise, gave the impression that he was laughing.
“Smooth,” Ryan said.
The flame went out, Ryan’s face vanishing into the black.
Seth sat up and began dusting himself and his dignity off, adding another item to the checklist of humiliation and self-doubt. The orange tip of the cigarette shifted through the shadows, parts of it breaking off, falling to the ground. Ryan kept interrupting Seth’s great escapes. It was starting to get annoying. Seth frowned at where he thought Ryan was, and stayed on the ground.
“I always figured you for ballet, Seth. I can admit when I’m wrong.”
“Oh, so funny.” Seth mock-laughed, then grunted when a sharp pain stabbed his back. “So funny it hurts. Besides, you’re not one to talk. Who did musicals?”
The shape moved. Seth hesitated at the offered hand, sensing a trap.
“Don’t be an ass,” Ryan said, gruffly.
“Sometimes that’s hard,” Seth admitted, but allowed himself to be levered to his feet. Ryan’s hand was dry, strong, and sent a blue shock up Seth’s spine. Seth immediately flexed free, taking a step back.
The cigarette changed hands, moving ghost-like through the air. A soft, juicy sound followed as Ryan sucked on it, the cigarette burning bright orange across a disembodied mouth and nose. Seth’s tongue crackled and went dry.
“Do you like Paula Abdul?” Seth blurted.
The cigarette drifted closer, taking Ryan’s body with it. Seth squinted, and finally, when Ryan walked into the light from the porch next door, Seth saw Ryan clearly. He was dressed like Seth, in jeans and a t-shirt, but he also had on a button-up shirt. He’d left it undone, hanging open loosely along his torso. That damned cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth. Still James Dean, after all these years. Still the only interesting thing in Seth’s devastatingly mediocre existence. It wasn’t *fair*.
“Scared?” said Ryan, around the cigarette.
“No,” Seth squawked. He flapped his hand in a circle that encompassed the drive. “I didn’t expect to find you lurking out here, that’s all.”
“I wasn’t lurking.” The cigarette gave him a slight lisp. “I was smoking.”
“Lurking.” Seth paused, surprised when Ryan chuckled. “Hey, I thought you quit during sophomore year. You read all the pamphlets and everything.”
“Bad habits are hard to break,” Ryan said. Seth occupied himself with untwisting the strap of the bag across his chest. “So, you know why I’m out here. Can’t say the same about you. Running away again? I figured that would be your next move.”
“It’s my only talent, I’m told,” Seth snapped. “Why mess with a good thing?”
Really, that said it all. By the way Ryan’s eyebrows jumped, he heard the subtext in the statement. Seth shut up, and frowned at the vague shape of his car, and the fence beyond it. His legs were longer than Ryan’s, but despite Ryan’s relapse as a chimney, Ryan still had better lung capacity.
“Not your only talent,” Ryan said at length, but didn’t elaborate. “Summer said she saw you.”
Would Ryan actually chase if Seth ran?
“Yeah,” Seth said, but wasn’t sure who he was responding to.
Move, Seth told his feet, but they refused to budge.
“She said you looked like crap.” Ryan smirked, Seth could feel lit. “You do.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that, you look pretty shitty yourself.”
“Hm.” Ryan shrugged and turned, bending his body against the metal fence separating Seth’s parent’s house from the neighbors. Seth took a moment to study him, but he couldn’t tell whether his retaliatory zinger held any truth with Ryan’s back to him. When Ryan spoke again, his voice was subdued. “She said that I smelled like a crack-whore’s mouth, whatever that means. She also said that you think I’m an asshole.”
Thank you, Summer, you complete traitor.
“Strong word, that one.” Seth rocked on his heels, hoping he wasn’t about to face Ryan’s wrath again. “When you say it out loud, it sounds so harsh.”
“You’re right, I have been.” Ryan said emotionlessly, and Seth actually felt himself do a double take. Ryan, admitting to being an asshole? Had the aliens taken him again? And then Ryan smacked him down in their verbal play with a soft snort and a, “Bet you didn’t tell her that you know why.”
Seth stood uncertainly, his gaze wavering between Ryan and his car. He wanted to go, run as fast as his legs could carry him, but he wanted-he didn’t know what he wanted. He’d never had a clue. It had been Summer, and then it *hadn’t* been Summer, and Seth had never known what to do with that. Putting it in the attic had seemed like the only thing he could do that wouldn’t end up with his life in pieces, and look how that had turned out. He sucked at this important life decision stuff.
“I should go,” he said. “Josh is expecting me to show up tonight. And you know he’ll freak out if I’m not there before ten.”
Ryan looked at him over his shoulder, like he knew it was a lie or didn’t care if it wasn’t. The light from the neighbors was eclipsed by his face, shining only at the edge of his cheek. Again, Seth didn’t move, because obviously all along he’d been Bambi, not Seth, and Ryan was a big ass truck speeding toward him.
“I’ve been thinking,” Ryan said, and took one long drag of the cigarette, before he threw it to the ground. The orange light sparked, then died, and a mixture of anticipation and dread laced the saliva sticking to the inside of Seth’s cheeks.
This is gonna hurt, Seth had the foresight to think.
Ryan snagged him by the strap across his chest, and yanked. Seth stumbled forward, and did absolutely nothing to prevent his chest from landing against Ryan's with a jarring thud. Boom, and there was time to gurgle something like a protest, then Seth was stringy meat against the grill of the truck. Ryan blurred toward him. Seth closed his eyes the instant before Ryan’s mouth struck rough and smoky on his.
* * *
TBC
A/N: Again, there will be a part 3b. I just have to make it... work. I love part four, and that's mostly polished. But the rest of this section? Eh.
Everyone loves The Feedback.
The O.C., Seth/Ryan, NC-17.
Slash, Long, Future Fic.
Summary
Seth Cohen: twenty years old, unspecified major, neurotic mess.
Disclaimer
Not mine, no money, don’t sue, yadda, yadda, you know the drill.
Notes
This is set while Ryan and Seth are attending an unspecified college together, and likely to be made AU in the next couple of years. Also, I began writing this before a lot of the events of mid-season two took place (then took a long break from it, before returning recently), so it’s already AU in some ways.
A new part should be posted weekly or bi-monthly, after the editing process.
Go Back To Part One, Part Two
Cowardly Acts, part 3a/4, by Fabella
Additional Notes: There WILL be a part 3b/4. Normally, I would post it all together, but I don't want to make people wait, but at the same time, I don't want to post something that isn't polished to my liking. (It's a lengthy process to make me not hate my writing, trust me.)
* * *
Seth was on his stomach on his bed flipping through the pages of an old school book, wondering where his and Ryan’s unbeatable combination had gone wrong, when Sandy came into the bedroom without knocking. Seth marked his place and closed the book, pushing himself up into a seated position. His father picked the book up and sat where it had, next to Seth’s side. He took a steadying breath before speaking, which was just never good in Seth’s extensive experiences with being lectured.
“We need to talk.”
“If this is about putting me out with the trash, don’t worry. I got hook-ups dad, plenty of places to stay,” Seth said. It wasn’t exactly the truth, because he’d pissed Josh off by never showing up, and then not returning his calls, and apparently everyone in the known world hated Seth right now. Which was nothing new. “I’m outta here tomorrow, pops, I swear.”
“It’s not about that.” Sandy ran a hand over the glossy cover, then placed the book in his lap, thumb on the binding. “I want you to come down to dinner.”
“You look like someone died. Is Mom cooking?” Seth stretched his legs out and fell backward on the bed listlessly. His hand landed on his belly, which had been as tentative as a virgin prom date since he’d picked up the phone that morning and Ryan had been on the other end. Seth had answered while muting the volume on the television, and there had been a pause before Ryan asked if he could talk to Sandy. Boom-boom; Seth’s heart had cha-cha’d right out of his chest and he’d dropped the phone into his cereal bowl. “I’m not hungry.”
“We have company.” Sandy squeezed Seth’s knee. “You need to come down.”
“Don’t tell me you invited the Cooper-Nichols over again. Will mom ever learn that alcohol, take-out, and vaguely incestuous overtones are never a good mix?”
“Seth.” The seriousness of his dad’s tone made Seth look at him, and Seth found that Sandy’s eyes were shaded by the dim light of the room, and when he twisted to face Seth more fully, he was wearing the lawyer face. “Ryan’s here.”
Seth’s knee jerked under Sandy’s hand, his own hand flailing for purchase and finding the edge of the mattress. Spun up, he tried to hold himself to the planet, but didn’t have much luck, because the last thing he’d been expecting was a civil war. An attack from within. The sheet sprung free, snapping against his knuckles, and Ryan had.
“What? Dad, you didn’t!”
Ryan had-Seth squeezed his eyes shut.
He envisioned a panic button. It was red and huge, sitting at the center of a brightly lit room, with a sign hanging over it emblazoned with the words ‘for emergency use only’. He saw his hand hover over it, before he managed to tremble backwards and away from the temptation. He’d felt like this before.
“You two need to talk,” Sandy said. “You can’t keep dancing around each other.”
For a long time, until about the age of eleven, he’d been forced to have an inhaler on him at all the times. He’d kept it on a string around his neck until he finally convinced his parents to let him leave it at home. Psychosomatic, the doctors had told his parents when they took Seth to the emergency room after one of his attacks. The doctor had seen it before, mostly in kids going through rough developmental periods. She’d asked his parents if he had any friends, and Sandy and Kirsten had looked at each other, then at Seth, who was sitting on the exam table, hard white lights flickering at a barely perceptible pace on his bare shoulders. The paper sheet crackled under his butt.
An elephant could have sat on Seth’s chest just then, and there wouldn’t have been any air left to squash out of him.
“He’s part of this family, too,” Sandy was saying.
Except family wasn’t supposed to give other family orgasms that took off the tops of their heads. Or any type of orgasms actually. Unless you were a Cooper-Nichol, because then it was almost socially acceptable.
Ryan had kissed him so hard, and so hot, and squeezed his ribs until Seth thought he was going to pop like a hot water balloon. He’d pressed Seth against the sink, held Seth’s bottom lip between his teeth, and holding both their breaths somewhere inside his own chest, where Seth couldn’t catch it-couldn’t find it, it was gone again, no, no, don’t want to be that kid again-Ryan had slipped his hand inside Seth’s boxers and scratched his fingers through Seth’s pubic hair.
Sandy was continuing his rant, but Seth was not willing or emotionally prepared to mix Sandy’s voice in with thoughts of a pubic hair nature.
Don’t think about pubic hair, Seth thought at his brain sternly, and then tried to gain some measure of control over his breathing, so his dad didn’t know how close he was to devolving about a decade. Sandy was seated at the corner of his vision, just a blur with dark hair really as he kept talking, his mouth moving, apparently very serious about whatever he was telling Seth. And there was an elephant in the room with them.
A big, pink, and prancing elephant named Ryan. Seth glared at it righteously from his reclined position. It did a little dance in its bright tutu, but Seth wasn’t amused. Screw feeling guilty, this was Ryan’s fault, because Ryan had jerked Seth off in the bathroom, jerked Seth off like the best thing ever was the feel of Seth’s cock in his hand. He’d made Seth come, then creamed his jeans while humping the skin right off of Seth’s thigh. And after, very softly and in a fragile way, he’d kissed Seth’s cheek.
“He’s not a fish,” Sandy had moved on to saying, in full blown lecture mode, and Seth’s blinked. Ryan as a fish hadn’t occurred to him, and he never wanted it to again, because that was his and Summer’s specialty. “You don’t get to throw him back in the water because you have one little fight.” Sandy looked over, sighed, and snapped his fingers in front of Seth’s face. “Yo! Is my son in there with that blank stare? Any of this registering?”
“Sure,” Seth said, with the same blank stare.
“And?”
“*And* that’s not what I think! I don’t want to throw him back, I just-” The words weren’t coming to him. See, this was why he had never written a Hallmark card. Seth groaned and dragged a pillow over his face, smothering a harassed groan. No one was on his side, and he had to remember that. Explaining wouldn’t get him anywhere, anyway, so it didn’t matter that he couldn’t figure out how to. “Fine, I’ll be right down.”
Sandy tugged on the pillow, but Seth held onto it tightly.
“Okay,” Sandy said slowly, and his weight left the bed. “I’m giving you five minutes to appear downstairs with a bright smile and fresh clothes. Don’t show up, and I’ll call in the reinforcements.” Sandy, like Summer, appreciated the value of dramatic timing. He took the opportunity for a hefty pause, then said, “I’ll tell your mother.”
“No one likes a tattle tale,” Seth growled behind the pillow.
Sandy laughed the entire way out of Seth’s room, like a demented dictator’s husband should laugh when it wasn’t him getting the whip that night. When Seth heard the door close, he threw the pillow off and jumped out of bed, bringing the blankets to the floor with him as he stumbled over his own feet. He peeked around the corner, just to make sure his dad was really gone, then grabbed his overnight bag, and began hurriedly throwing all of his stuff into it.
He didn’t think about what he was doing. He didn’t think about what his parents and Ryan would think of him when the reinforcements arrived and discovered Seth had gone AWOL. He just scrambled around a lot, tried not to make too much noise, and spent way too much time searching for his mp3 player.
The window stuck when he tried to lift it. Cursing, Seth struggled with it, longing for the days of old when he’d been able to slip out of the house during the middle of the night with a minimum of strained muscles, and finally managed to jerk it open enough that he could squeeze through. Carefully, he climbed down to the first floor, and swung himself to the patio, landing with a soft thump, just in front of the kitchen doors.
With their tall, bare windows.
Oops.
Not that it mattered where he had landed because his dad had his mom pinned against the refrigerator and was eating her mouth like she was an open bag of cheetos and he’d just peeled his lips off the bong. Seth had plenty of experience with walking in on his parents like this, and never *ever* had that been okay. Seth kind of stood there for a moment, right in plain sight, and was quietly horrified.
Kirsten slid her hands up Sandy's back, and they made as if to turn toward Seth and continue what they had been doing right there on the table. With that disturbing image---he had EATEN on that table---Seth shook himself out of his private hell, and ducked away from the doors. He raced into the shadows, hurrying around the side of the house, promising himself the entire way that he would rip his eyes out at the earliest available opportunity. The drive was mostly dark as he approached it, his sneakers scuffing his shoes on the pavement, and Seth breathed a little easier when he saw Ryan hadn’t blocked his car in.
And then a lighter flicked on, separating a face from the black not three feet from Seth. Seth yelped and skidded to halt. He overbalanced, slipping on pebbles that gave way under his clumsy footwork, and landed on his ass, the stars shaking above him, his ears ringing. Ryan lit his cigarette serenely, cheeks hollowing, and without smiling or making any noise, gave the impression that he was laughing.
“Smooth,” Ryan said.
The flame went out, Ryan’s face vanishing into the black.
Seth sat up and began dusting himself and his dignity off, adding another item to the checklist of humiliation and self-doubt. The orange tip of the cigarette shifted through the shadows, parts of it breaking off, falling to the ground. Ryan kept interrupting Seth’s great escapes. It was starting to get annoying. Seth frowned at where he thought Ryan was, and stayed on the ground.
“I always figured you for ballet, Seth. I can admit when I’m wrong.”
“Oh, so funny.” Seth mock-laughed, then grunted when a sharp pain stabbed his back. “So funny it hurts. Besides, you’re not one to talk. Who did musicals?”
The shape moved. Seth hesitated at the offered hand, sensing a trap.
“Don’t be an ass,” Ryan said, gruffly.
“Sometimes that’s hard,” Seth admitted, but allowed himself to be levered to his feet. Ryan’s hand was dry, strong, and sent a blue shock up Seth’s spine. Seth immediately flexed free, taking a step back.
The cigarette changed hands, moving ghost-like through the air. A soft, juicy sound followed as Ryan sucked on it, the cigarette burning bright orange across a disembodied mouth and nose. Seth’s tongue crackled and went dry.
“Do you like Paula Abdul?” Seth blurted.
The cigarette drifted closer, taking Ryan’s body with it. Seth squinted, and finally, when Ryan walked into the light from the porch next door, Seth saw Ryan clearly. He was dressed like Seth, in jeans and a t-shirt, but he also had on a button-up shirt. He’d left it undone, hanging open loosely along his torso. That damned cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth. Still James Dean, after all these years. Still the only interesting thing in Seth’s devastatingly mediocre existence. It wasn’t *fair*.
“Scared?” said Ryan, around the cigarette.
“No,” Seth squawked. He flapped his hand in a circle that encompassed the drive. “I didn’t expect to find you lurking out here, that’s all.”
“I wasn’t lurking.” The cigarette gave him a slight lisp. “I was smoking.”
“Lurking.” Seth paused, surprised when Ryan chuckled. “Hey, I thought you quit during sophomore year. You read all the pamphlets and everything.”
“Bad habits are hard to break,” Ryan said. Seth occupied himself with untwisting the strap of the bag across his chest. “So, you know why I’m out here. Can’t say the same about you. Running away again? I figured that would be your next move.”
“It’s my only talent, I’m told,” Seth snapped. “Why mess with a good thing?”
Really, that said it all. By the way Ryan’s eyebrows jumped, he heard the subtext in the statement. Seth shut up, and frowned at the vague shape of his car, and the fence beyond it. His legs were longer than Ryan’s, but despite Ryan’s relapse as a chimney, Ryan still had better lung capacity.
“Not your only talent,” Ryan said at length, but didn’t elaborate. “Summer said she saw you.”
Would Ryan actually chase if Seth ran?
“Yeah,” Seth said, but wasn’t sure who he was responding to.
Move, Seth told his feet, but they refused to budge.
“She said you looked like crap.” Ryan smirked, Seth could feel lit. “You do.”
“Thanks, I appreciate that, you look pretty shitty yourself.”
“Hm.” Ryan shrugged and turned, bending his body against the metal fence separating Seth’s parent’s house from the neighbors. Seth took a moment to study him, but he couldn’t tell whether his retaliatory zinger held any truth with Ryan’s back to him. When Ryan spoke again, his voice was subdued. “She said that I smelled like a crack-whore’s mouth, whatever that means. She also said that you think I’m an asshole.”
Thank you, Summer, you complete traitor.
“Strong word, that one.” Seth rocked on his heels, hoping he wasn’t about to face Ryan’s wrath again. “When you say it out loud, it sounds so harsh.”
“You’re right, I have been.” Ryan said emotionlessly, and Seth actually felt himself do a double take. Ryan, admitting to being an asshole? Had the aliens taken him again? And then Ryan smacked him down in their verbal play with a soft snort and a, “Bet you didn’t tell her that you know why.”
Seth stood uncertainly, his gaze wavering between Ryan and his car. He wanted to go, run as fast as his legs could carry him, but he wanted-he didn’t know what he wanted. He’d never had a clue. It had been Summer, and then it *hadn’t* been Summer, and Seth had never known what to do with that. Putting it in the attic had seemed like the only thing he could do that wouldn’t end up with his life in pieces, and look how that had turned out. He sucked at this important life decision stuff.
“I should go,” he said. “Josh is expecting me to show up tonight. And you know he’ll freak out if I’m not there before ten.”
Ryan looked at him over his shoulder, like he knew it was a lie or didn’t care if it wasn’t. The light from the neighbors was eclipsed by his face, shining only at the edge of his cheek. Again, Seth didn’t move, because obviously all along he’d been Bambi, not Seth, and Ryan was a big ass truck speeding toward him.
“I’ve been thinking,” Ryan said, and took one long drag of the cigarette, before he threw it to the ground. The orange light sparked, then died, and a mixture of anticipation and dread laced the saliva sticking to the inside of Seth’s cheeks.
This is gonna hurt, Seth had the foresight to think.
Ryan snagged him by the strap across his chest, and yanked. Seth stumbled forward, and did absolutely nothing to prevent his chest from landing against Ryan's with a jarring thud. Boom, and there was time to gurgle something like a protest, then Seth was stringy meat against the grill of the truck. Ryan blurred toward him. Seth closed his eyes the instant before Ryan’s mouth struck rough and smoky on his.
* * *
TBC
A/N: Again, there will be a part 3b. I just have to make it... work. I love part four, and that's mostly polished. But the rest of this section? Eh.
Everyone loves The Feedback.