Seldom Second Chances (4/13)
Title: Seldom Second Chances
Author: Clay
Pairing: Ryan/Colin
Rating: NC-17 (for later chapters)
Summary: When a freak accident drops an impossible opportunity in Ryan's lap, it's up to him to decide whether to squander it, or to change his fate by going after the one thing he's always wanted.
Word Count: ~3400
Prompt & Author's Notes: A shorter chapter, as this was originally part of chapter 3 (thus the change from 12 to 13 chapters), but a fun one. Again, for the Thon Prompt 33: Strangled by the red string. As always, betaed by asuka14.
Chapter Four
When Ryan stepped up to Mother Lode’s entrance, he was almost playing a role, making a concerted effort to come off much more calm and confident than he was currently feeling. He didn’t bother pulling out his ID for the doorman, and the guy didn’t ask for one. He just nodded Ryan in with a curious frown. It was a look Ryan got a lot in the mid-nineties-that “I know you. How do I know you?” look. He just smiled in return and slipped inside.
Immediately he made his way to the bar, taking in the place at a glance. It was pleasantly dark. The bar was illuminated by shaded pendant lamps, but most of the light came from lamps formed of wrought iron stands topped with clusters of dimmed yellow globules. They were scattered around the interior of the bar and reminded Ryan of antique street lamps. And when combined with the golden hued hardwood that made up the floors and walls, the whole place had a warm, friendly glow. Some of it had obvious wear and tear, the wood scuffed and thickly waxed, and the floor was sticky in places, but somehow that didn’t lessen the charm any. The only real strike against the place was its choice of music-some mid 90s pop he didn’t recognize-but that was easy enough to ignore.
The bartender was older, with a balding pate and a handlebar mustache, and for some reason, the sight of him immediately put Ryan at ease. He didn’t even ask for Ryan’s order, just gave him a clear look to let him know he was listening.
“Scotch and soda,” he told the man.
The drink came quickly; it was cheap and strong, and as Ryan turned away from the bar to survey the rest of the place, he found himself regretting never coming here before.
Like he’d guessed outside, the patrons here were casually dressed, and like the bar, itself, seemed like straight forward, down to earth people. His kind of people, he thought immediately. Most of them were in groups, however, and Ryan wasn’t feeling bold enough to approach them. He was looking for a loner, like himself. He wanted someone right around his age-which, he had to mentally correct, was closer to 40 than 50 now. He wanted….
Ryan’s observations had taken him 180 degrees, starting from the stools to his right, sweeping across the crowded floor, and ending at the stools to his left. There, sitting just two seats away, was Colin. Ryan sucked in a breath, his eyes widening.
Then “Colin” turned to look at him, and Ryan realized it wasn’t him. They had the same shiny, pale head surrounded by a ring of white hair, but that was where the similarities ended. The look alike’s nose was more snub; his cheeks were rounder, and his eyes were a pale blue instead of Colin’s soulful hazel. What was more, the Colin from this time and place had dyed blond hair, not white, so even that similarity didn’t actually fit. He felt stupid for thinking Colin would frequent a place like this.
But then the Colin look alike smiled at him, accompanying it with a little wave, and Ryan realized he’d been staring.
“Hi,” the look alike mouthed.
Ryan blinked, then smiled slightly. Something about the behavior seemed sweet, jovial, and he decided he liked this guy. He picked up his drink and moved a seat down until they were right next to each other.
“Hi,” Ryan said, holding out a hand. He had to raise his voice slightly to be heard above the music, but luckily the speakers were located at the far end of the bar; otherwise he would have been shouting. “I’m Ryan.”
The look alike grasped his hand warmly. “Dick.”
Ryan chuckled, shaking his head. How appropriate. “Hey, Dick,” he said. “Wanna fuck?”
Dick threw his head back and laughed, genuinely amused. Then he nodded at Ryan vehemently, his cheeks flushed. “Your place or mine, baby?”
Yeah, Ryan definitely liked this guy. He wasn’t classically attractive, but then, neither was Ryan. The burst of laughter definitely had him thinking that Dick hadn’t expected to get laid tonight, but instead of being bitter about his chances, Dick was just pleased at the unexpected surprise. And considering that reaction, he also probably didn’t have much more experience with men than Ryan, which, in Ryan’s estimation, made him a good starter fuck.
He grinned at Dick, downed his drink, then motioned to the bartender for another.
“Well,” he said, closing his hand around the fresh drink and grinning at Dick, “My wife and kids are at home, so I'm thinking your place.”
Dick laughed again, nodding knowingly. “One of those guys.”
Ryan just shrugged and swallowed half of his drink in one go.
“I bet you've never been with a guy.”
Ryan just took another long swallow of his drink, then motioned for yet another. He was hoping his confidence would belie his inexperience, but apparently not. Still, he didn't want to give this guy the satisfaction of an answer. “Have you?”
Dick's smile turned wicked. He leaned forward and slipped a hand over Ryan's knee before whispering, “What do you think?” He waited for Ryan to move his glass away from his mouth and then kissed him.
Instinctively, Ryan closed his eyes and kissed Dick back. It was only familiar in as far as it was a kiss. It read nothing like any kiss he'd shared with a woman, and his stage kisses with Colin had been just that. Chaste and dry, they were more like simply pressing your face against another person's rather than anything with any feeling or meaning.
Immediately, he thought it was just too wet. Dick went in with an open mouth and shoved his tongue inside Ryan's. He plunged it in and out without any real skill, tasting of cheap beer and saliva, of which there seemed to be far too much. It made Ryan gag a little, but the act just opened his mouth further, and Dick took that as a good sign, swirling his tongue around in a blind whirlwind.
Swallowing back another gag, Ryan pulled back and wiped at his mouth. Dick frowned slightly at that, but Ryan grinned at him, not wanting to put the guy off completely. He couldn't kiss to save his life, but Ryan didn't imagine they'd be doing much more of that once they got to the main event, so he let it go.
“Problem?”
“Just want another drink before we get out of here,” Ryan explained. He finished his drink, then waved to the bartender. “Make it a double this time. Straight.” If he was going to get through the rest of the night, he was going to need it.
* * *
By the time they stumbled back out into the semi-cool L.A. night, Ryan had probably imbibed a half a bottle of scotch, and he was feeling far more confident than when he'd entered the bar. He clutched at Dick's warm, sweaty hand and nearly dragged him down the sidewalk toward where he was pretty sure he'd left the car.
He searched through his pockets one handed, looking for his keys. When he realized he’d lost count of which pockets he’d checked, and how often, he realized that he was pretty damned drunk. And for some reason, that should concern him, but he was having a hard time remembering why. Something about the car, he guessed.
“Maybe I shouldn’t be driving?” he called to Dick over his shoulder.
Dick giggled in return. “We can always fuck in the car!”
That set Ryan off, like it was the funniest thing in the world. He practically bowled over laughing, and then he grabbed up Dick and laid a wet kiss on the top of his head before starting off down the street again.
They squirmed through the tightly packed street, past couples, and even a couple of the groups of men who had given Ryan such curious looks before. Now they winked and whooped at him, and he blew a kiss to a young thing wearing hot pants and glittery pink sneakers, which just made the group that much more rowdy.
They shoved their way between an older man in a three piece suit and a woman that was young enough to be his daughter. Stifled cursing added to the cacophony of the sidewalk, and it made Ryan that much more giddy.
They managed to get the attention of quite a few more of the streets patrons by the time they made it to the car, but Ryan was beyond caring. The promise of sex had taken over most of his brain functions, and he pushed Dick up against the body of the car, fit himself between the man's legs, and kissed him. This time, he took control of the kiss, figuring it was only fair he teach Dick a thing or two in return for the lesson he was going to get in return.
Eagerly he plundered Dick's willing mouth as he slid his hands up and under his shirt. Dick's belly was soft and hairy, which brought Colin to mind once again, and Ryan felt the first real stirrings of sexual desire. Half erect and horny as hell, he thrust twice against Dick's denim clad crotch and was rewarded with a soft whimper.
Suddenly there was a flash of light in Ryan's peripheral vision, and then another. His first thought was lightning, and he broke the kiss to look up to the sky, but it was black and empty. There was another flash, and Ryan turned, finally realizing what it was.
One of the paparazzi who had been haunting the more expensive clubs and restaurants must have recognized him. There was a small group of them crowded around, flashing pictures and asking questions. For a moment, Ryan just stared at them, his fuzzy brain fighting to remember how to react to them.
“Ryan!” One of them called. “Ryan Stiles! You're Ryan Stiles, right?”
“Who is this?” Another asked. “Where's your wife?”
Passersby were starting to look, craning their necks as they traversed the sidewalk, with some outright stopping to watch the show. Ryan turned and moved instinctively to block Dick from view. While he didn't owe the guy anything, he was sure Dick hadn't signed up for this. He'd gotten the impression that Dick hadn't recognized him, either, so the poor guy must have been confused.
For some reason, Ryan hadn't considered the paparazzi at all. Sure, he was famous enough, but he was small potatoes compared to the sheer number of movie stars that lived in L.A. He'd never really had a problem with the paparazzi before, but then, he realized, he'd never cut out on his wife to pick up a stranger in a gay bar before, and big name or no, that was going to be news.
“Shit,” he slurred, looking back and forth among the men.
“Where's your wife?” was repeated again, then another piped up, “Do you come here a lot? Are you gay?”
Ryan gave the man a wobbly smile. “I'm not happy, if that's what you're asking,” he quipped.
Dick set his hands against Ryan’s back, steadying himself as he poked his head around Ryan as he tried to see what was going on.
Immediately the paparazzi swarmed him, camera bulbs flashing and microphones jerking forward as all their questions were redirected to Dick.
“How do you know Ryan?”
“Are you two lovers?”
“Do you know his wife?”
“Who are you? What's your name?”
“I...Dick?” Dick said, his eyes widening like a startled deer. He looked to Ryan, then back to the paparazzi. He was obviously scared and very, very confused.
“Dick?” One of them echoed along with a snorting laugh. He turned to his companion. “Write that down.”
Even though Ryan had found himself amused by the name not an hour earlier, something about the paparazzo doing the same made him sick with anger. Fury was swelling inside him as the crowd around them continued to grow, packing tighter and tighter with club goers and yet more paparazzi.
“Yo, back off,” he said, raising one hand. Simultaneously, he was groping at his pockets again, but he still couldn’t remember where he’d put his keys.
A shorter paparazzo ducked under Ryan's arm and shoved a microphone right in Dick's face. “Dick!” he yelled, far too loudly for such closer quarters. The sound grated against Ryan's last nerves, and he snapped. “Where are you-”
“I said back the fuck off!” Ryan roared. He shoved the man as hard as he could with both hands, then grabbed him up by his collar, spun them around and slammed him against the car. Getting right in the man's face, he snarled, “Take your fucking camera and get out of here before I shove it up your ass. Got it?”
But the outburst didn't seem to faze him in the least. Instead, the paparazzo just looked excited, his eyes wide and a smile playing about the corners of his mouth. “I have a right to be here!” he retorted. “You can't stop me!”
“Wanna bet?”
“What are you going to do-hit me?”
So Ryan did.
He reared back, then slammed his closed fist soundly across the man's jaw. The paparazzo spun, fell against the car, and then slid across its sleek body until he ended in a heap on the ground, moaning loudly and cradling his cheek.
There was an audible gasp from the crowd, followed by a split second of silence, and then everyone was talking at once. The number of camera flashes seemed to triple, and Ryan caught more than a few cell phones make an appearance as everyone tried to get this moment on film. The chatter was getting louder and louder, until Ryan could barely hear himself think. He had a sudden, maddening urge to rip the meter out of the ground and just start swinging.
“All right! Break it up!” The new voice was boomingly loud, and it was followed by the crackle of static and a split second of feedback.
Ryan went stiff, the anger rushing out of him as his stomach dropped. The crowd seemed to cringe, and as one, they all turned to see the flashing lights of a police cruiser, one officer holding the P.A. System's receiver while his partner made his way toward the crowd.
The paparazzo, still laying on the ground, had paused at the initial announcement from the policeman, but now his moans doubled in volume, and he clutched at his jaw, writhing about as he cried, “He hit me! He broke my jaw!”
The cop took one look at him, his mouth pressed in a thin line, then up to Ryan. “What's going on here?”
“He hit me!” the paparazzo yelled again.
“He fucking deserved it!” Ryan shouted back before he could control himself.
Apparently that was all the cop needed to hear. With a heavy sigh, he motioned for Ryan to turn around. “Hands behind your back.”
Ryan shook his head, holding his hands up defensively. “No, wait-”
The next thing he knew, he was being forcefully spun around, then shoved forward. He chest slammed into the car, and his breath left him in a whoosh. He was too stunned to do more than just stand there and allow the cop to wrench his arms behind his back and lock tight, cold cuffs on them as he started to read him his Miranda Rights.
There were a few flashes still going off, but a couple more cops had arrived, and the crowd was being told to disperse or being questioned in equal measures. Ryan also distantly noted that his companion had taken off; there was no sign of Dick. As soon as the thought registered, Ryan mentally joked that apparently he wouldn't be getting any “Dick” tonight.
But that was his last jovial thought. He was reminded of his to do list as he was led to the open door of the police cruiser, and it was with no small amount of trepidation that he realized he could cross off Get in trouble.
* * *
The cell door slammed behind him with a cold finality. Ryan stood just inside the doorway, still unsure of how to process this turn of events as he listened to the officer's fading footsteps. Sinking back against the barred door, he surveyed the room. It was small, maybe 10 foot square, with the only furniture being a long metal bench bolted to one wall and a metal toilet bowl bolted to another. There were two men sharing the cell with him: a dirty, unshaven man who smelled heavily of booze and feces, and a scared looking boy who couldn't have been more than 19 or 20. They barely spared him a glance.
Frustrated, Ryan turned and gripped the bars. He opened his mouth to yell to the guard, but just then the heavy metal door at the end of the hall slammed shut. Sighing heavily, Ryan dropped his head down and rested against the cold metal. “I'm a fucking idiot,” he murmured.
No one argued with him.
He stayed that way for some time, waiting for something to happen, but no one reappeared, and his companions weren’t much for talking. Feeling dejected and absurdly tired, Ryan eventually gave in and settled on the floor against one wall to try and get some sleep.
Before being thrown in the cell he'd been told he was being arrested for battery and further detained for public intoxication. With a good lawyer, Ryan was sure he'd be able to get the charges dropped. Hundreds of people had seen him hit his head on Drew's desk the day before, so he was positive he could argue that his behavior was due to some kind of brain injury. Hell, it certainly wouldn't take much convincing for Drew or Dan to back that one up. He was equally as sure that they'd be able to settle any additional charges filed by the paparazzo out of court, so that didn't worry him either, but the police weren't letting him post bail until the morning, so he was stuck in jail until then.
Regrets over his behavior were his only companions for a good couple of hours, but the fact was that what was done was done, and he’d deal with the consequences as they came. Eventually his dejection turned into indifference, and he was finally able to nod off. Over the next few hours, he woke periodically, but without a window or a clock, it was impossible to tell how much time had passed. What seemed like an impossibly long time later, a guard came in and told Ryan he could make a phone call.
His first call was to his lawyer, who had been sound asleep considering the fact that it was just coming on 5 a.m., but woke up pretty quickly as Ryan told him his tale. He let Ryan know he would take care of everything, pay the bail and other fees, and contact him later that day to let him know the date of the hearing.
It was the next call that gave Ryan pause. His car was in the impound; he could easily go retrieve it and head home, as the alcohol was pretty much completely out of his system by then, but the officers refused to let him go on his own recognizance, especially after he'd tried explaining the head injury theory to them. He immediately considered calling Pat, but all he could think was that she would laugh in his face and hang up on him the moment he told her the circumstances of his arrest. He had friends he could call, but the idea of explaining to them that he'd been out looking to get fucked up the ass immediately squashed that idea, too. They'd see it in the papers soon enough, but that didn't mean he was ready to fess up just yet.
That left him one person. He still wasn’t sure he could trust the guy, but then he didn’t really have much choice at this point.
Sucking in a steadying breath, Ryan once more lifted the phone's receiver, pressed it to his ear, and dialed.
“Good morning,” answered a young, perky voice-far too perky considering the early hour. “Thank you for calling the Sheraton Hotel and Suites. How may I help you?”
“Colin Mochrie's room, please.”
To be continued...
Author: Clay
Pairing: Ryan/Colin
Rating: NC-17 (for later chapters)
Summary: When a freak accident drops an impossible opportunity in Ryan's lap, it's up to him to decide whether to squander it, or to change his fate by going after the one thing he's always wanted.
Word Count: ~3400
Prompt & Author's Notes: A shorter chapter, as this was originally part of chapter 3 (thus the change from 12 to 13 chapters), but a fun one. Again, for the Thon Prompt 33: Strangled by the red string. As always, betaed by asuka14.
Chapter Four
When Ryan stepped up to Mother Lode’s entrance, he was almost playing a role, making a concerted effort to come off much more calm and confident than he was currently feeling. He didn’t bother pulling out his ID for the doorman, and the guy didn’t ask for one. He just nodded Ryan in with a curious frown. It was a look Ryan got a lot in the mid-nineties-that “I know you. How do I know you?” look. He just smiled in return and slipped inside.
Immediately he made his way to the bar, taking in the place at a glance. It was pleasantly dark. The bar was illuminated by shaded pendant lamps, but most of the light came from lamps formed of wrought iron stands topped with clusters of dimmed yellow globules. They were scattered around the interior of the bar and reminded Ryan of antique street lamps. And when combined with the golden hued hardwood that made up the floors and walls, the whole place had a warm, friendly glow. Some of it had obvious wear and tear, the wood scuffed and thickly waxed, and the floor was sticky in places, but somehow that didn’t lessen the charm any. The only real strike against the place was its choice of music-some mid 90s pop he didn’t recognize-but that was easy enough to ignore.
The bartender was older, with a balding pate and a handlebar mustache, and for some reason, the sight of him immediately put Ryan at ease. He didn’t even ask for Ryan’s order, just gave him a clear look to let him know he was listening.
“Scotch and soda,” he told the man.
The drink came quickly; it was cheap and strong, and as Ryan turned away from the bar to survey the rest of the place, he found himself regretting never coming here before.
Like he’d guessed outside, the patrons here were casually dressed, and like the bar, itself, seemed like straight forward, down to earth people. His kind of people, he thought immediately. Most of them were in groups, however, and Ryan wasn’t feeling bold enough to approach them. He was looking for a loner, like himself. He wanted someone right around his age-which, he had to mentally correct, was closer to 40 than 50 now. He wanted….
Ryan’s observations had taken him 180 degrees, starting from the stools to his right, sweeping across the crowded floor, and ending at the stools to his left. There, sitting just two seats away, was Colin. Ryan sucked in a breath, his eyes widening.
Then “Colin” turned to look at him, and Ryan realized it wasn’t him. They had the same shiny, pale head surrounded by a ring of white hair, but that was where the similarities ended. The look alike’s nose was more snub; his cheeks were rounder, and his eyes were a pale blue instead of Colin’s soulful hazel. What was more, the Colin from this time and place had dyed blond hair, not white, so even that similarity didn’t actually fit. He felt stupid for thinking Colin would frequent a place like this.
But then the Colin look alike smiled at him, accompanying it with a little wave, and Ryan realized he’d been staring.
“Hi,” the look alike mouthed.
Ryan blinked, then smiled slightly. Something about the behavior seemed sweet, jovial, and he decided he liked this guy. He picked up his drink and moved a seat down until they were right next to each other.
“Hi,” Ryan said, holding out a hand. He had to raise his voice slightly to be heard above the music, but luckily the speakers were located at the far end of the bar; otherwise he would have been shouting. “I’m Ryan.”
The look alike grasped his hand warmly. “Dick.”
Ryan chuckled, shaking his head. How appropriate. “Hey, Dick,” he said. “Wanna fuck?”
Dick threw his head back and laughed, genuinely amused. Then he nodded at Ryan vehemently, his cheeks flushed. “Your place or mine, baby?”
Yeah, Ryan definitely liked this guy. He wasn’t classically attractive, but then, neither was Ryan. The burst of laughter definitely had him thinking that Dick hadn’t expected to get laid tonight, but instead of being bitter about his chances, Dick was just pleased at the unexpected surprise. And considering that reaction, he also probably didn’t have much more experience with men than Ryan, which, in Ryan’s estimation, made him a good starter fuck.
He grinned at Dick, downed his drink, then motioned to the bartender for another.
“Well,” he said, closing his hand around the fresh drink and grinning at Dick, “My wife and kids are at home, so I'm thinking your place.”
Dick laughed again, nodding knowingly. “One of those guys.”
Ryan just shrugged and swallowed half of his drink in one go.
“I bet you've never been with a guy.”
Ryan just took another long swallow of his drink, then motioned for yet another. He was hoping his confidence would belie his inexperience, but apparently not. Still, he didn't want to give this guy the satisfaction of an answer. “Have you?”
Dick's smile turned wicked. He leaned forward and slipped a hand over Ryan's knee before whispering, “What do you think?” He waited for Ryan to move his glass away from his mouth and then kissed him.
Instinctively, Ryan closed his eyes and kissed Dick back. It was only familiar in as far as it was a kiss. It read nothing like any kiss he'd shared with a woman, and his stage kisses with Colin had been just that. Chaste and dry, they were more like simply pressing your face against another person's rather than anything with any feeling or meaning.
Immediately, he thought it was just too wet. Dick went in with an open mouth and shoved his tongue inside Ryan's. He plunged it in and out without any real skill, tasting of cheap beer and saliva, of which there seemed to be far too much. It made Ryan gag a little, but the act just opened his mouth further, and Dick took that as a good sign, swirling his tongue around in a blind whirlwind.
Swallowing back another gag, Ryan pulled back and wiped at his mouth. Dick frowned slightly at that, but Ryan grinned at him, not wanting to put the guy off completely. He couldn't kiss to save his life, but Ryan didn't imagine they'd be doing much more of that once they got to the main event, so he let it go.
“Problem?”
“Just want another drink before we get out of here,” Ryan explained. He finished his drink, then waved to the bartender. “Make it a double this time. Straight.” If he was going to get through the rest of the night, he was going to need it.
* * *
By the time they stumbled back out into the semi-cool L.A. night, Ryan had probably imbibed a half a bottle of scotch, and he was feeling far more confident than when he'd entered the bar. He clutched at Dick's warm, sweaty hand and nearly dragged him down the sidewalk toward where he was pretty sure he'd left the car.
He searched through his pockets one handed, looking for his keys. When he realized he’d lost count of which pockets he’d checked, and how often, he realized that he was pretty damned drunk. And for some reason, that should concern him, but he was having a hard time remembering why. Something about the car, he guessed.
“Maybe I shouldn’t be driving?” he called to Dick over his shoulder.
Dick giggled in return. “We can always fuck in the car!”
That set Ryan off, like it was the funniest thing in the world. He practically bowled over laughing, and then he grabbed up Dick and laid a wet kiss on the top of his head before starting off down the street again.
They squirmed through the tightly packed street, past couples, and even a couple of the groups of men who had given Ryan such curious looks before. Now they winked and whooped at him, and he blew a kiss to a young thing wearing hot pants and glittery pink sneakers, which just made the group that much more rowdy.
They shoved their way between an older man in a three piece suit and a woman that was young enough to be his daughter. Stifled cursing added to the cacophony of the sidewalk, and it made Ryan that much more giddy.
They managed to get the attention of quite a few more of the streets patrons by the time they made it to the car, but Ryan was beyond caring. The promise of sex had taken over most of his brain functions, and he pushed Dick up against the body of the car, fit himself between the man's legs, and kissed him. This time, he took control of the kiss, figuring it was only fair he teach Dick a thing or two in return for the lesson he was going to get in return.
Eagerly he plundered Dick's willing mouth as he slid his hands up and under his shirt. Dick's belly was soft and hairy, which brought Colin to mind once again, and Ryan felt the first real stirrings of sexual desire. Half erect and horny as hell, he thrust twice against Dick's denim clad crotch and was rewarded with a soft whimper.
Suddenly there was a flash of light in Ryan's peripheral vision, and then another. His first thought was lightning, and he broke the kiss to look up to the sky, but it was black and empty. There was another flash, and Ryan turned, finally realizing what it was.
One of the paparazzi who had been haunting the more expensive clubs and restaurants must have recognized him. There was a small group of them crowded around, flashing pictures and asking questions. For a moment, Ryan just stared at them, his fuzzy brain fighting to remember how to react to them.
“Ryan!” One of them called. “Ryan Stiles! You're Ryan Stiles, right?”
“Who is this?” Another asked. “Where's your wife?”
Passersby were starting to look, craning their necks as they traversed the sidewalk, with some outright stopping to watch the show. Ryan turned and moved instinctively to block Dick from view. While he didn't owe the guy anything, he was sure Dick hadn't signed up for this. He'd gotten the impression that Dick hadn't recognized him, either, so the poor guy must have been confused.
For some reason, Ryan hadn't considered the paparazzi at all. Sure, he was famous enough, but he was small potatoes compared to the sheer number of movie stars that lived in L.A. He'd never really had a problem with the paparazzi before, but then, he realized, he'd never cut out on his wife to pick up a stranger in a gay bar before, and big name or no, that was going to be news.
“Shit,” he slurred, looking back and forth among the men.
“Where's your wife?” was repeated again, then another piped up, “Do you come here a lot? Are you gay?”
Ryan gave the man a wobbly smile. “I'm not happy, if that's what you're asking,” he quipped.
Dick set his hands against Ryan’s back, steadying himself as he poked his head around Ryan as he tried to see what was going on.
Immediately the paparazzi swarmed him, camera bulbs flashing and microphones jerking forward as all their questions were redirected to Dick.
“How do you know Ryan?”
“Are you two lovers?”
“Do you know his wife?”
“Who are you? What's your name?”
“I...Dick?” Dick said, his eyes widening like a startled deer. He looked to Ryan, then back to the paparazzi. He was obviously scared and very, very confused.
“Dick?” One of them echoed along with a snorting laugh. He turned to his companion. “Write that down.”
Even though Ryan had found himself amused by the name not an hour earlier, something about the paparazzo doing the same made him sick with anger. Fury was swelling inside him as the crowd around them continued to grow, packing tighter and tighter with club goers and yet more paparazzi.
“Yo, back off,” he said, raising one hand. Simultaneously, he was groping at his pockets again, but he still couldn’t remember where he’d put his keys.
A shorter paparazzo ducked under Ryan's arm and shoved a microphone right in Dick's face. “Dick!” he yelled, far too loudly for such closer quarters. The sound grated against Ryan's last nerves, and he snapped. “Where are you-”
“I said back the fuck off!” Ryan roared. He shoved the man as hard as he could with both hands, then grabbed him up by his collar, spun them around and slammed him against the car. Getting right in the man's face, he snarled, “Take your fucking camera and get out of here before I shove it up your ass. Got it?”
But the outburst didn't seem to faze him in the least. Instead, the paparazzo just looked excited, his eyes wide and a smile playing about the corners of his mouth. “I have a right to be here!” he retorted. “You can't stop me!”
“Wanna bet?”
“What are you going to do-hit me?”
So Ryan did.
He reared back, then slammed his closed fist soundly across the man's jaw. The paparazzo spun, fell against the car, and then slid across its sleek body until he ended in a heap on the ground, moaning loudly and cradling his cheek.
There was an audible gasp from the crowd, followed by a split second of silence, and then everyone was talking at once. The number of camera flashes seemed to triple, and Ryan caught more than a few cell phones make an appearance as everyone tried to get this moment on film. The chatter was getting louder and louder, until Ryan could barely hear himself think. He had a sudden, maddening urge to rip the meter out of the ground and just start swinging.
“All right! Break it up!” The new voice was boomingly loud, and it was followed by the crackle of static and a split second of feedback.
Ryan went stiff, the anger rushing out of him as his stomach dropped. The crowd seemed to cringe, and as one, they all turned to see the flashing lights of a police cruiser, one officer holding the P.A. System's receiver while his partner made his way toward the crowd.
The paparazzo, still laying on the ground, had paused at the initial announcement from the policeman, but now his moans doubled in volume, and he clutched at his jaw, writhing about as he cried, “He hit me! He broke my jaw!”
The cop took one look at him, his mouth pressed in a thin line, then up to Ryan. “What's going on here?”
“He hit me!” the paparazzo yelled again.
“He fucking deserved it!” Ryan shouted back before he could control himself.
Apparently that was all the cop needed to hear. With a heavy sigh, he motioned for Ryan to turn around. “Hands behind your back.”
Ryan shook his head, holding his hands up defensively. “No, wait-”
The next thing he knew, he was being forcefully spun around, then shoved forward. He chest slammed into the car, and his breath left him in a whoosh. He was too stunned to do more than just stand there and allow the cop to wrench his arms behind his back and lock tight, cold cuffs on them as he started to read him his Miranda Rights.
There were a few flashes still going off, but a couple more cops had arrived, and the crowd was being told to disperse or being questioned in equal measures. Ryan also distantly noted that his companion had taken off; there was no sign of Dick. As soon as the thought registered, Ryan mentally joked that apparently he wouldn't be getting any “Dick” tonight.
But that was his last jovial thought. He was reminded of his to do list as he was led to the open door of the police cruiser, and it was with no small amount of trepidation that he realized he could cross off Get in trouble.
* * *
The cell door slammed behind him with a cold finality. Ryan stood just inside the doorway, still unsure of how to process this turn of events as he listened to the officer's fading footsteps. Sinking back against the barred door, he surveyed the room. It was small, maybe 10 foot square, with the only furniture being a long metal bench bolted to one wall and a metal toilet bowl bolted to another. There were two men sharing the cell with him: a dirty, unshaven man who smelled heavily of booze and feces, and a scared looking boy who couldn't have been more than 19 or 20. They barely spared him a glance.
Frustrated, Ryan turned and gripped the bars. He opened his mouth to yell to the guard, but just then the heavy metal door at the end of the hall slammed shut. Sighing heavily, Ryan dropped his head down and rested against the cold metal. “I'm a fucking idiot,” he murmured.
No one argued with him.
He stayed that way for some time, waiting for something to happen, but no one reappeared, and his companions weren’t much for talking. Feeling dejected and absurdly tired, Ryan eventually gave in and settled on the floor against one wall to try and get some sleep.
Before being thrown in the cell he'd been told he was being arrested for battery and further detained for public intoxication. With a good lawyer, Ryan was sure he'd be able to get the charges dropped. Hundreds of people had seen him hit his head on Drew's desk the day before, so he was positive he could argue that his behavior was due to some kind of brain injury. Hell, it certainly wouldn't take much convincing for Drew or Dan to back that one up. He was equally as sure that they'd be able to settle any additional charges filed by the paparazzo out of court, so that didn't worry him either, but the police weren't letting him post bail until the morning, so he was stuck in jail until then.
Regrets over his behavior were his only companions for a good couple of hours, but the fact was that what was done was done, and he’d deal with the consequences as they came. Eventually his dejection turned into indifference, and he was finally able to nod off. Over the next few hours, he woke periodically, but without a window or a clock, it was impossible to tell how much time had passed. What seemed like an impossibly long time later, a guard came in and told Ryan he could make a phone call.
His first call was to his lawyer, who had been sound asleep considering the fact that it was just coming on 5 a.m., but woke up pretty quickly as Ryan told him his tale. He let Ryan know he would take care of everything, pay the bail and other fees, and contact him later that day to let him know the date of the hearing.
It was the next call that gave Ryan pause. His car was in the impound; he could easily go retrieve it and head home, as the alcohol was pretty much completely out of his system by then, but the officers refused to let him go on his own recognizance, especially after he'd tried explaining the head injury theory to them. He immediately considered calling Pat, but all he could think was that she would laugh in his face and hang up on him the moment he told her the circumstances of his arrest. He had friends he could call, but the idea of explaining to them that he'd been out looking to get fucked up the ass immediately squashed that idea, too. They'd see it in the papers soon enough, but that didn't mean he was ready to fess up just yet.
That left him one person. He still wasn’t sure he could trust the guy, but then he didn’t really have much choice at this point.
Sucking in a steadying breath, Ryan once more lifted the phone's receiver, pressed it to his ear, and dialed.
“Good morning,” answered a young, perky voice-far too perky considering the early hour. “Thank you for calling the Sheraton Hotel and Suites. How may I help you?”
“Colin Mochrie's room, please.”
To be continued...