[Whose-a-thon fic] Breaking Point
Title: Breaking Point
Characters: Jeff, Ryan
Pairings: Ryan/Colin, Ryan/Greg, Jeff/Chip, Jeff/Greg, all implied
Rating: R for lots of cursing
Prompt: 170: “You can't have both of them.” “What makes you think I want either of them?”
Word Count: ~880
“You can't have both of them,” Ryan said, blowing out a white plume of smoke as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on the cold, metal railing of the fire escape. There was the slightest hint of a smirk in his voice.
The night was dark. A fourth quarter moon left the sky empty, muddied by the city so that not even a single star shown through. Instead the sky seemed to hang low, a featureless gray ceiling without as much as an amorphous cloud to break up the monotony.
Jeff returned the smirk, even though he didn't meet Ryan's eyes, nor even looked his way. “'What makes you think I want either one of them?'” he came back, shaking his head slightly. With a small snort, he finally turned toward Ryan. “Or isn't that your line?”
Ryan grunted softly. He just shrugged by way of answer, then took another drag on his cigarette.
“Well?”
Still, Ryan didn't answer.
“That was what you told me a few months back. You don't want Colin or Greg, so why can't I take a shot at Greg?”
Dropping the cigarette to the blacktop some ten feet below, Ryan blew out a final, long breath of smoke. He licked his lips, then turned from the railing to meet Jeff's eyes. “I never said that.”
“You said-”
“I said what makes you think that I want them. Not that I didn't.” Huffing, he turned away again, then leaned, very heavily, against the railing. “Of course I want them. Both of them.” Raking his fingers through his hair, he seemed to lean more heavily still, and the metal groaned beneath him. “And for you this is some fucking game.”
Now it was Jeff's turn to stay silent. Ryan wasn't usually this talkative, and there was something in his voice-something that made Jeff think that Ryan was just about to break and he needed to get this out of his system. He had the feeling that if he opened his mouth, then Ryan would clam right up again.
“A fucking game,” Ryan repeated. He picked himself up off the railing long enough to light another cigarette, then was right back on it, practically draped over the galvanized metal as he stared across the scantly lit back lot. “Go on the road and fuck for fun. Forget about it again when your real life comes back. Like it can go away. Like it doesn't mean shit all because what the fuck does it mean to you anyway? You're a kid. You're just a fucking kid.”
“You're not talking to me anymore, are you?” Jeff said as the realization hit him. He'd broken his own rule and opened his mouth, but it didn't matter. Ryan was long past hearing him.
“Think this is fun? You go to England, and she's not there. It's just you and the guys, so you fuck around, and then head back to Pat like it never happened? Fuck and drink and smoke. And fuck. And fuck some more.” He laughed, shaking his head. He took a long moment-just smoking-long enough that Jeff thought he wasn't going to continue at all.
Nearly a minute had passed when he said, very quietly, “Don't bring it home, Ryan. Don't bring it home. Leave it there.” He was shaking his head, all merriment gone from his voice. “Don't you let him back in your head. Fucking Colin. And then Greg. Where the fuck did he even come from? Stupid fucking glasses.” He smiled again and stubbed out his cigarette on the railing.
Heaving a deep breath, Ryan pushed himself to standing straight once more. His long fingers stayed curled around the cold metal. His head was bent, slumped at the shoulders. “Fuck.”
Finally he pulled himself back up, and, acting like nothing had happened, met Jeff's eyes. “We should get back inside,” he said. “We're on soon. Let's go.”
He practically marched past Jeff and grabbed the door knob. Yellow light spilled onto the fire escape as the door swung out, but before Ryan had a chance to step inside, Jeff had stopped him. He grabbed Ryan's arm, holding him in place, and Ryan snapped his head around to look at him, startled.
“Ask me again,” Jeff said, catching Ryan off guard with a mirthless smile, “what makes me think you want either one of them.”
Ryan just watched him for a full three seconds. Jeff could see his mind working behind those tired eyes as they tripped back and forth, searching Jeff's own.
“Just back off Greg,” he said at last. “Stick to Chip.”
The “Or else.” remained unspoken.
Jeff stayed quiet as Ryan turned and headed back inside, still wearing that mirthless smile. He'd lay off Greg. Chasing after Chip was far more fun anyway. And besides, he couldn't wait to see the way this story would play out.
Ryan couldn't have them both-Greg or Colin; he'd have to decide. One day soon it would all come to a head, and Jeff wanted a front row seat when the action went down.
He closed the door, hot on Ryan's heels.
End.
Characters: Jeff, Ryan
Pairings: Ryan/Colin, Ryan/Greg, Jeff/Chip, Jeff/Greg, all implied
Rating: R for lots of cursing
Prompt: 170: “You can't have both of them.” “What makes you think I want either of them?”
Word Count: ~880
“You can't have both of them,” Ryan said, blowing out a white plume of smoke as he leaned forward, his elbows resting on the cold, metal railing of the fire escape. There was the slightest hint of a smirk in his voice.
The night was dark. A fourth quarter moon left the sky empty, muddied by the city so that not even a single star shown through. Instead the sky seemed to hang low, a featureless gray ceiling without as much as an amorphous cloud to break up the monotony.
Jeff returned the smirk, even though he didn't meet Ryan's eyes, nor even looked his way. “'What makes you think I want either one of them?'” he came back, shaking his head slightly. With a small snort, he finally turned toward Ryan. “Or isn't that your line?”
Ryan grunted softly. He just shrugged by way of answer, then took another drag on his cigarette.
“Well?”
Still, Ryan didn't answer.
“That was what you told me a few months back. You don't want Colin or Greg, so why can't I take a shot at Greg?”
Dropping the cigarette to the blacktop some ten feet below, Ryan blew out a final, long breath of smoke. He licked his lips, then turned from the railing to meet Jeff's eyes. “I never said that.”
“You said-”
“I said what makes you think that I want them. Not that I didn't.” Huffing, he turned away again, then leaned, very heavily, against the railing. “Of course I want them. Both of them.” Raking his fingers through his hair, he seemed to lean more heavily still, and the metal groaned beneath him. “And for you this is some fucking game.”
Now it was Jeff's turn to stay silent. Ryan wasn't usually this talkative, and there was something in his voice-something that made Jeff think that Ryan was just about to break and he needed to get this out of his system. He had the feeling that if he opened his mouth, then Ryan would clam right up again.
“A fucking game,” Ryan repeated. He picked himself up off the railing long enough to light another cigarette, then was right back on it, practically draped over the galvanized metal as he stared across the scantly lit back lot. “Go on the road and fuck for fun. Forget about it again when your real life comes back. Like it can go away. Like it doesn't mean shit all because what the fuck does it mean to you anyway? You're a kid. You're just a fucking kid.”
“You're not talking to me anymore, are you?” Jeff said as the realization hit him. He'd broken his own rule and opened his mouth, but it didn't matter. Ryan was long past hearing him.
“Think this is fun? You go to England, and she's not there. It's just you and the guys, so you fuck around, and then head back to Pat like it never happened? Fuck and drink and smoke. And fuck. And fuck some more.” He laughed, shaking his head. He took a long moment-just smoking-long enough that Jeff thought he wasn't going to continue at all.
Nearly a minute had passed when he said, very quietly, “Don't bring it home, Ryan. Don't bring it home. Leave it there.” He was shaking his head, all merriment gone from his voice. “Don't you let him back in your head. Fucking Colin. And then Greg. Where the fuck did he even come from? Stupid fucking glasses.” He smiled again and stubbed out his cigarette on the railing.
Heaving a deep breath, Ryan pushed himself to standing straight once more. His long fingers stayed curled around the cold metal. His head was bent, slumped at the shoulders. “Fuck.”
Finally he pulled himself back up, and, acting like nothing had happened, met Jeff's eyes. “We should get back inside,” he said. “We're on soon. Let's go.”
He practically marched past Jeff and grabbed the door knob. Yellow light spilled onto the fire escape as the door swung out, but before Ryan had a chance to step inside, Jeff had stopped him. He grabbed Ryan's arm, holding him in place, and Ryan snapped his head around to look at him, startled.
“Ask me again,” Jeff said, catching Ryan off guard with a mirthless smile, “what makes me think you want either one of them.”
Ryan just watched him for a full three seconds. Jeff could see his mind working behind those tired eyes as they tripped back and forth, searching Jeff's own.
“Just back off Greg,” he said at last. “Stick to Chip.”
The “Or else.” remained unspoken.
Jeff stayed quiet as Ryan turned and headed back inside, still wearing that mirthless smile. He'd lay off Greg. Chasing after Chip was far more fun anyway. And besides, he couldn't wait to see the way this story would play out.
Ryan couldn't have them both-Greg or Colin; he'd have to decide. One day soon it would all come to a head, and Jeff wanted a front row seat when the action went down.
He closed the door, hot on Ryan's heels.
End.