[oc] Shadowboxing. Chapter eight.
I said I would update! *bounces* Right now, I'm on a break. Totally deserved, too, I might add. *g* So, yeah, enjoy!
Title: Shadowboxing.
Author: M. F. Luder
Pairing: Ryan/Seth.
Rating: PG-13.
Category: Future fic. Drama. Me being evil. *nods*
Spoilers: Up to "The End's not Near, is Here", but with selective spoilers. *g*
Challenge: From fanfic100 and 45. moon. The rest of the stories can be found at Big Damn Table.
Author's note: Betad by popmusicjunkie this time around. I love you, babe!
Special thanks to popmusicjunkie, who I totally adore and love and she must know this, or I'll hurt her. *winks* You put up with me while I was writing this, and you nudge and pushed and threatened with bodily harm when it was mostly needed, and for that, I will love you forever. *nods*
one | two| three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven | twelve
Shadowboxing
VIII.
Nothing changes much, after that afternoon in late October. Seth doesn't push, doesn't think he could, even if his skin tingles with pent up energy and he wants to discover Ryan's skin under his clothes, figure out what makes him moan, makes him writhe. He takes the status quo and runs with it, takes his cues from Ryan, who doesn't reach for him, who doesn't kiss him.
He goes to his classes, talks very little of them for fear of tilting the fragile balance they seem to have reached. Ryan goes to his classes at the Braille Institute and Seth feels like an idiot from the moment he found out about Ryan's RP until this very second. Seth picks up Ryan one afternoon and while Ryan goes to the bathroom, Nick Langley pulls Seth to the side, away from the hallway from where people are coming and going.
Seth frowns, opening his mouth to speak but Nick is quicker.
"Have you thought about joining us in a few classes?"
Seth blinks, taken back and confused, and he wonders how Nick reads it when the man can't see it showing in Seth's face.
"You live with Ryan, right? Ryan said you've been living together for the past six years."
And Seth knows how that sounds. He coughs into his hand. "What he meant--"
"I know what he meant, Seth. Ryan explained how your parents adopted him."
Yeah, and that doesn't sound weird.
"My point is, you're the one living with him. You have to make changes in your everyday life--"
"I have!" And he has. He's learned not to be a slob anymore, on the sheer principle that if he so much as leaves a t-shirt on the floor, Ryan could fall face first against the edge of the coffee table and kill himself. Seth has never known motivation like that, enough to make him stop and think about where he puts everything.
"Yes, Ryan told me about it as well."
Seth blinks, seeing Nick -- about twenty years older than them, blind for longer than Seth has been alive -- tilting his head, as if hearing something Seth can't quite catch on, before turning around once again.
"I think it'd be good. For you and him."
That's all Seth needs. He nods, biting his lower lip as he notices his stupidity. "Sure, okay. I'll--"
"You can come to our morning session tomorrow?"
He has a class at ten, but he'll skip it. For Ryan-- He swallows. "Yeah, of course."
"Good. We'll set a few sessions around your schedule."
And it was done, just like that. Ryan walks out of the bathroom about two seconds later, and Seth smiles and thanks Nick and they make their way out of the Institute.
The next morning, Seth talks with the building commission -- three women, and they remind him too much of the Newpsies for him not to shudder -- and he finds out that they can have a dog, but they have to pay a fee to the building commission and he doesn't mind the fact that is one hell of a fee.
Seth wants a German Sheppard, a big dog that can get in between Ryan and a fucking car, if Ryan wasn't paying attention. And he realizes the reason behind his fixation with that bred one afternoon in the middle of class, when the picture of something he saw years ago, almost ten years ago, comes to mind. He remembers, watching this show about something or other and this woman, this blind woman, saying that she had been saved by her dog when she had fallen unconscious on her apartment. The dog had been a German Sheppard. The dog had saved her. Ergo, Ryan needed a German Sheppard. Weird, yes, but Seth had never really been a conventional kind of guy.
Seth sits at dinner with Ryan next to him, and he can't help but notice the little things, the way Ryan touches the edge of the table before his hands move from the edge to the center, to the plate, how by touch alone, he finds the silverware. His breath catches in his throat and he recognizes this as something Ryan has to have learned in his classes.
"I talked with Nick today."
Ryan blinks, lifting his face, blue eyes looking back at him. Blue eyes, perfect shade, blue eyes--
"Oh," Ryan says, and Seth has to blink to come here, to look at Ryan and not feel something inside him break. "Yeah," Ryan lowers his face, his chin, tilted to the side, away from him, and Seth can see the boy he met six years ago in that simple quirk. "He said he might talk to you."
"I'm going to class. With you. Tomorrow."
Ryan looks at him at that. "You have--"
"I can skip a class. Jane will lend me her notes, I'm sure. Don't worry."
Seth watches the way Ryan's lips pull, almost tight, and he knows Ryan wants to say something, add something, but he stops himself. He wants to grimace, to reach and turn Ryan's face to him and kiss him, but does neither from fear of being seen and felt.
They fall into silence after that, easy if not quite comfortable, and at night, dressed in loose sweats and a t-shirt, Seth still crawls into Ryan's bed, making very little sound. Not pushing, not like that night. He doesn't cover Ryan's body with his, he doesn't kiss the skin under his touch. Seth only lies on his back, on Ryan's left side, his right hand holding Ryan's left one, thumb caressing the back of the palm, when Seth feels Ryan's hand tightening in his in the middle of the night, in the middle of another nightmare, muttering reassurances in Ryan's ear that Ryan doesn't remember in the morning. The nightmares don't stop, but Ryan still doesn't talk about them, and because Ryan doesn't wake up screaming with Seth's name in his lips, Seth keeps quiet and worries in silence.
They fall into a routine, like they always do, like they do best. There's more to mobility training than Seth ever imagined, and he only watches Ryan during one session -- Ryan, blindfold over his eyes because there will come a time when he might not be able to see beyond his nose, touching the edge of a wall, steps hesitant -- and that was more than enough for Seth to feel like he might die if he has to watch it again, if he has to leave Ryan again in the hands of Nick, who says the first months are always the hardest but they've done hard and this certainly wasn't in the brochure.
Seth has a few sessions of his own. Different than Ryan's, teaching far too much, more than he ever thought possible. There are things he can do to help Ryan, to make it easier. Things he has to do for Ryan to be able to live in his very own home. Seth feels like he's two and an idiot after those classes. And he frets. And he feels like an idiot even as he frets. He thinks about therapy and knows Ryan will refuse. He thinks about buying a guide dog but doesn't want to push, specially after Nick tells him that Ryan will do so in his own time.
November passes in something of a blur. Ryan wears his dark glasses most of the time, and the pull on the corners of his eyes seem to be there, all the time, always, and Seth feels like something has gotten hold of his chest and will not let go. How do you breathe when all you can think of is worry in big bold letters?
They go to Newport for Thanksgiving because Seth's certain, only mentioning that the parents could make the trip instead of them will get him a glare and a pinched look Seth's trying to cut back.
They arrive on Newport on a Friday. The parents ask very little, instead let them set the mood. Ryan talks about his classes in the Braille Institute as he touches Sophie's face, almost as if trying to remember her. Seth mentions his only in passing. That afternoon, Ryan goes to lie down for a bit. Seth can see Ryan's headache getting the best of him in the frown in between his eyes, and the way Ryan's shoulders are set let Seth know that he hates to have to take a nap.
About half an hour after Ryan has gone upstairs, enough for Ryan to fall asleep and Seth breath a little bit easier, he talks to the parents. He tells them in short sentences, his hands clasped in his lap, about them not quite being together. He doesn't mention the hand on the mirror. He thinks about it for a second but doesn't, because he knows his mom will freak out and his dad will worry. And Ryan will hate him to the core.
After he's finished, Sandy tells him that this isn't something to play with and Seth glares at his father at the mere suggestion that he might. He loves Ryan, he tells them, and if Ryan doesn't want anything to do with him, if Ryan wants Seth to move to Antarctica, he will. Anything Ryan asks of him. And they are not doing anything Ryan doesn't start.
Their interaction doesn't really change. They don't kiss nor hold hands. The only difference is that Seth sleeps in Ryan's bedroom instead of the two of them in the pool house. Ryan doesn't mention the fact that the pool house is not longer his. No one does. If Seth feels his hand being held on such a tight grip that Friday, he doesn't say anything. If Seth wakes up twice that night, Ryan curled into himself and his back to Seth, hands gripping the sheets around him so tight his knuckles are white, Seth only brushes back Ryan's hair and touches his shoulder, down his arm, to take the hand back in his. If Ryan lets him and slowly uncurls, Seth keeps quiet about it as well.
Seth doesn't mind waking up and making his way to the bathroom, showering and then waiting for Ryan to do the same to make their way down to the kitchen. He doesn't mind waiting for Ryan to find his footing. He has the rest of their lives, he can wait.
The five of them try to have a nice and easy holiday. Seth wonders if that's even possible, the way everything changes around them, the way Ryan hesitates when reaching for a glass, when cutting his turkey.
He notices the way his mother hasn't renovated anything since their last visit. It's almost as if nothing has been moved, and he's grateful to her for that. And if he catches Ryan making mental blueprints, counting his paces from furniture to furniture, Seth doesn't say, doesn't ask.
The first night back in Berkeley, a Tuesday, Seth lying on his back, right hand in Ryan's own. He takes in a deep breath and Ryan's voice breaking the silence takes him by surprise.
"It's not that I don't... It's not--"
"I know," Seth says, nodding as he does so, squeezing Ryan's hand.
"I just..."
But the words are not found, and Seth doesn't need them anyway. He squeezes Ryan's hand once again, turning his head, nuzzling the shoulder where the hem of the shirt meets soft skin. He smiles against Ryan's t-shirt and whispers, "I know."
It had happened. They had talked. They had said what they had to say, Seth had said what he had to say. Ryan knows now, Seth thinks, a month after seeing glass on their bathroom and Ryan's right hand held to his chest by his left one. And this month, Seth had enough time to be anxious and upset and uncomfortable as much as he wanted to. He had to do it in silence, sure, but he could do it. He did it. He's past it by now.
And after all that, he was deliriously happy, being in love and finally having got what he wanted. Now, it's just a matter of waiting. And Seth might not be patient. But any collector knows that rare things, the ones that are really worth it, are the ones you must look and wait for.
Ryan, Seth thinks, is just a bit scared of him. That, like all, will pass. Seth knows the truth. Ryan's only frightened because he hadn't known he'd had Seth for the last six years, as well.
Two of the six events that had changed his life since he was fifteen had involved Ryan. Two of them had happened after he'd left school.
There was going to Harbor, which had isolated him, but changed him as well. He had graduated from that school with friends and a girlfriend, something he never thought possible, because Seth had been certain he was going to get sent to boarding school or die trying.
There was also not getting into Brown, which at the moment, for Seth, had been the end of his life as he knew it. He had been dating Summer back then, and though he had thought that was the path for him, the one reason he needed to get in was because Summer was going there and he needed to be there with her. He had been wrong, but he hadn't seen that until later. Marissa dying had been a shock for everyone involved. Had broken them a little bit, and even three years later, he thinks Ryan still has the cracks left behind. And after that, it had been Summer getting that job at George.
There were two more, which the man sleeping with his hand held tightly in Seth's right one had been directly entwined. The other two events had brought him to this point, to a small apartment in Berkeley, lying down in Ryan's bed, their hands clasped together.
He should count Ryan having RP as well, but it's too recent, too soon, the wound is still raw flesh under his touch, and it hadn't exactly changed what he had already known. He might see it different in ten years, know better. The way he does now, the two points in life that had changed his.
They even started the same way.
"Hey."
"Hey."
Seth had looked back at the kid standing at the French doors leading from the kitchen to the backyard. He had smiled, and that had been it. Easy. Simple. History.
The second time.
"Hey."
"Hey."
Seth had pushed past the doors leading to the pool house, stood by the futon, shins touching the sheets, and let the Tahiti map drop next to Ryan.
"I'm thinking," he had said, slowly, watching Ryan put the book he had had in his hand down on his lap and look at him. "I'm thinking about going to Berkeley on the fall. With you."
It had been the winter of 2007 and Seth had already spoken with his dad, who had called Paul Glass, who had gotten him in within the week.
Ryan had frown, tilted his head to the side. He was wearing his glasses because his eyes had been bothering him the last couple of days. Ryan had taken them off, pinched the bridge of his nose and put his glasses back on. He hated talking with someone without his glasses. Ryan used to say he didn't like talking with someone and not being able to see their face. Even now, at the memory of those words, Seth's chest does a funny thing in his ribcage.
"I thought you were going to RISD with Summer."
Seth had shaken his head, unable to come up with a really good explanation if Ryan were to ask more questions. But Ryan is Ryan, and he hadn't asked. He'd said, "Are you sure?" Seth had nodded, assured him that yes, he was sure, and Ryan had shrugged and asked if he wanted to play the new game they had bought the week before. That had been the end of it.
Seth blinks, looks down at the hand in his, or the one around his. He looks down at the fingers intertwine, but the light is too dim and he can't tell the difference between his and Ryan's. So he doesn't. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and lets Ryan's breathing lull him to sleep.
On Thursday night of that same week, Seth's sits on the couch, book in his hands. His eyes sting from the late night and the small font of the book, way past midnight and well into one in the morning. With a sigh and a groan, he lets the book fall closed on his lap after the last page has been read. He rubs his eyes with his fists, trying to remember the point of the book, the feeling behind the words and hopes against hope that he'll remember what he read for tomorrow. And it's all his fault, he knows, leaving a book for the last possible minute. And he could have read it during the break, but the last thing he wanted was to think about school while back home with Ryan.
Seth's already dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, and placing the book on the center table -- he has to remember to get it before going to school tomorrow -- he stands up and stretches, hearing more than one vertebrae pop. He groans at the stiff muscles, the back of his neck and his shoulder blades, before making his way to the hallway and into Ryan's bedroom.
He pauses by the doorway, leaning against the edge of the wood, arms folded on his chest. A few rays of light coming from the street light cast cream and yellow shadows with touches of gray in the room. He can see the corners of the room, the dresser, the bed and Ryan's on his back, eyes closed, head tilted away from him. Seth's face twists into a grimace, his throat a bit tight. They can do this, he thinks. Ryan can do this. Ryan's stronger than he thinks, than he believes himself to be. He's stronger than this--
Seth takes in a deep shaky breath, before pushing himself off the threshold and toward the bed. He pushes back the covers, crawling into bed and letting them pool around his waist. He closes his right hand into a fist, Ryan's left one barely inches from him, on top of the covers, curled and resting against his stomach. He wants nothing more than to take hold of the hand and rub the back of Ryan's palm with his thumb, caress the skin inside his wrist.
Biting his lower lip, Seth closes his eyes, shuts them tight, and pretends he can't see the reflection of light inside his close eyelids. His hand stays in a fist until, breaths later, he falls asleep.
He purrs in the back of his throat, feeling a smile on his lips. He thinks he sees nothing but dark and clouds and it feels like a dream, or a dream within a dream, but he doesn't complain, feeling content and happy and a little bit lazy. He sighs and shifts, maybe turns, he's not sure. He's relaxed and pleased and everything is good in the world, and he doesn't know why, but that's that, and it's good and he doesn't want to open his eyes and realize he's wrong, so he doesn't. He shifts again and moans, taking in a deep breath through his throat, mouth opened wide. His left hand holds on tight, tight, on something that yields under his touch and he smiles again, grins, and lets himself be turned into a muddle of something that's not quite muscle.
Something presses against his skin and he moans, his head thrown back and his hands grasping for something they can hold and this time, when he blinks, he knows he's not dreaming. His dreams have never felt this good, this powerful, this perfect and right.
He lifts his head, blinking at the darkness around him, the dim light through the pulled curtains, and his head is fuzzy with sleep and his eyes are not quite used to the shadows and the play of black and gray. But when he blinks again, he can see Ryan's looking back at him. Ryan, who's straddling his thighs, something he can't read in his eyes. Blue eyes Seth knows better than his own name blink back at him owlishly and for a second he wonders if Ryan can see him.
"Ryan?" Seth's voice cracks, and he clears his throat before trying again. "What--?"
But Ryan shakes his head, lowering his head, and it's only now that Seth notices that his sweatpants are low on his hips. Ryan smiles against Seth's skin, Seth can feel that, before his tongue darts out and touches the skin on his hipbone and words leave Seth's brain and all he can think of is oh, oh, OH.
His hands clutch at the sheets, but between one breath and the next, his left hand is taken in Ryan's right one and he looks up, blinks, tries to find it himself to focus and mouth words and finds himself lacking.
"I--" He starts, but his words ends there as Ryan pushes his t-shirt up to his chest, nuzzles the low of his stomach, the side of his navel and he thinks he can actually feel his eyes rolling back in its sockets. "God, Ryan--"
"Let me--"
Anything, Seth wants to say, but he can't, because there's a kiss being placed -- petal soft, Ryan's lips against his skin and Seth can die a happy man now -- on his stomach, the legs on either side of his tightening somehow, putting pressure on the outside of his thighs and he groans low on his throat, unable to stop.
A nose touches his skin and he bites on the inside of his cheek. Ryan, touching. Ryan, legs straddling his own. Ryan, nuzzling him. Ryan. Ryan. Ryan--
Ryan, who hasn't kissed him in a month, even after everything they said. Ryan, who is slowly going blind--
"Wait, wait." Seth pants as the words leave his lips and he doesn't really wants to say them, but this is Ryan, and Seth loves him too much to hurt him, even by not asking, but letting and not questioning before. "I thought you--"
Ryan blinks, looking up at Seth's words, at the wait wait that isn't quite spoken, but breathed out. The light is dim in the bedroom, the pull of the curtains shading his eyes, making it easier for Ryan to see the few details he can still catch. But it won't be for much longer. Even with easy light, with his glasses, even with a fucking miracle it won't be for much longer--
He can feel his throat tightening and the burning in his spine, in his lower belly subsiding, but he doesn't want that. He doesn't want to think about that, not here, not now. He's running out of time, God-dammit, if he hadn't been such a fucking idiot--
He leans forward, putting his weight on his hands on either side of Seth's chest, nuzzling Seth's neck, finding it hard to speak but needing to. And his words come out in a rush, like water from a broken dam, too fast and pushing one over the other,
"Not enough time, Seth. God. Not enough time. I don't-- I'm sorry, I shouldn't have. I shouldn't have--" And he doesn't know what he's saying, what he's trying to say, but it's coming out of his mouth fast and too deep to stop the words, so he buries his face in the crook of Seth's neck and kisses the skin underneath and tries to tell himself to breath.
I shouldn't have waited this long. I don't have time to wait this long.
"Hey, hey, hey."
There are hands on either side of his face, pulling him away from jaw and collarbone and skin, bringing his face close to Seth, so close, Ryan can see the brown eyes looking back at him, saying enough that words aren't needed.
"It's okay," Seth says, and Ryan feels like Seth's always saying that, always, always. "I'm here, Ryan. I'm not going anywhere."
It's not about Seth leaving, but about Ryan finding himself unable to see him. And how Ryan wants to, once, even just once, to be able to see Seth underneath him, hear him pant and know he did it, Ryan did that, put that broken voice there and be responsible for that, God, just once, just once.
"I want to see you," Ryan hisses through his mouth, lowering it and kissing Seth roughly, feeling his face in a scowl, the sting behind his eyes. He pulls away, kissing Seth's jaw, up to his cheekbones, his closed eyelids, the bridge of his nose, and somewhere in between the words pour from Ryan. "Your face, your eyes. Your eyes, a thousand times a day, Seth, what are you saying with your eyes?"
Ryan shifts his hips, feeling Seth's erection even through the sweats, hard against his thigh and Seth moans in the back of his throat, pushes against him and Ryan can't help but smile even through the pull of his lips.
"Let me, let me, let me--"
Let me see you, he thinks he says, but doesn't, instead kissing his path down to Seth's collarbone, as much as skin as he can touch over the collar of the shirt. "Off, off. Off."
Seth chuckles in the back of his throat, and Ryan leans back on his heels, legs stretching over Seth's hips, and Seth pushes himself up long enough pull the shirt off and throw it to his right, falling somewhere on the floor, between the bed and the window. Ryan can feel his chest tight even as he leans down, covering Seth's collarbone with his lips, his hands touching the expanses of Seth's sides, ribs and hips and fingers barely touching the muscles of the slim back. His brain unable to stop, words going behind closed eyelids, not enough time to map these lines and contours, to know them like the back of his hands, to need them like the air he breathes.
Seth gasps, low on his throat, when Ryan licks the skin at the edge of a hollow where the clavicles meet. He grins against the skin, feeling Seth's erection against his thigh, feeling his own against Seth's hip.
I did this, Ryan thinks, lifting his face and looking at Seth, eyes closed, head thrown to the side, mouth slightly parted, half gasping, half breathing. And he wants this and more, so much more, everything in this second, while he can still see Seth's face, see the skin under his touch, know the lines that aren't exactly state lines and make a map of Seth's skin in his mind, for when he will have nothing more than his fingers and his touch and his lips and his kisses.
A whole month, he can't help but think even as his cheek nuzzles the sensitive skin on Seth's breastbone. A month lost feeling every other step was faltering, uneven footing in every day changing meadows. He could have learned the skin under his fingers, he could predict responses by touch and smell and the way Seth arcs his back when Ryan licks the aureole of his nipple.
"Ryan--" Seth groans in between pants and Ryan smiles against the skin, his left hand holding on Seth's hipbone and pressing thumb against bone and Seth arcs his back once again, a muffled cry caught in between pleasure and pain.
Ryan lifts his face from the expanse of muscle and skin golden brown, reaches up to stroke Seth's face. He grimaces, not in pain but in sorrow, knowing he doesn't have enough time to memorize the curve of the cheekbones, the edge of his jaw. He knows them, from afar, from years of sitting on Seth's right side and glancing at the profile and knowing how it looks but not how it feels under his lips, under his fingertips. He wants to know -- ghosts without faces -- the shade of the skin he touches when he can't see it anymore.
It's different, different than it ever was with a woman. Different than with Cecilia, who kissed him behind her house, who let him touched her in her father's garage. Lisa, who placed his hand on her breast and unhooked her bra herself. Theresa, who used to grin before licking the underside of his cock. It's so different, because this time there are no soft curves, nor yielding body.
Seth opens his eyes, looks straight at Ryan, blinking but holding his gaze, brown eyes light and soft and in love looking back at him and Ryan thinks it's okay, he can do different. Ryan's hand skims over Seth's sides, over skin and muscle, and Seth's body yields under him, and it's not so different even he can't breathe, and then draws in a breath. Seth likes it when Ryan touches him like this, and Ryan has fallen in love with him as much for his words, his touch, his mind as for this line right here, the ridge of bone under skin, the small scar on his temple where he'd cut himself the first night at the beach party. The perfections and the imperfections and the way Seth knows just how to fit against him.
Their hips find a rhythm, quick and slow at the same time, his cock nestled in the ridges between Seth's thighs, the cloth rough against his skin, but there's not enough time. They are in too much of a hurry, it's been too long, they won't last long, they won't-- The edge of Seth's sweatpants, low on his hip, against the skin on his stomach, the feeling of Seth's cock hidden beneath, hard against his skin, pushing and pushing. It's too much and not enough, and Ryan lowers his face, mouth open against Seth's neck, throat, and his hand touches Seth's lower back, press apt fingers and hears Seth groan and shift and whisper, beg, moan, more, more, Ryan, God, more, please.
It's been too long, too long, he should have touched Seth like this months ago, that night when it was too much, when he broke and Seth picked up the pieces and put him back together, cracks from before and after, and all. He should have done this, hide his face in Seth's neck, smell Seth's hair and the tang of pre-come in the air and sweat and breath and air and the ocean and the sand and Ryan's right hand finds Seth's left one and twines their fingers and holds on tightly. Ryan's left hand digs into hipbone and soft skin and Seth's scream doesn't make it way out of his mouth but reverberates on Seth's throat and Ryan can feel it against his cheekbone and face and he presses harder, deeper, and Seth groans again, his hips bucking under Ryan's weight and with a silent inhale of breath, Ryan feels Seth come and groan and go slack.
Ryan's fingers keep their hold on Seth's hip, on his hand, face on Seth's neck, mouth wide open, lips on the jugular and he shifts and grimaces and closes his eyes and sees Seth's face in his minds eye, his fingers touching Seth. His breathing comes in pants, in ragged breaths, and when Seth's right hand touches the small of his back, presses, he breaks and comes, his voice silent, his eyes closed.
Seth's hand spreads on the small of his back, under the t-shirt he never quite shed, rubbing slow circles and for a moment all he can see is white in his eyelids, white and bright and perfect and sun and sand and he's seeing all this even as his body tingles and his ears resound the ocean, deep and roaring, with edges of whispered silence.
"I've got you," Ryan can hear muttered in his ear, against his hair, a kiss on his temple, a smile against his skin. "I've got you," Seth whispers again, and Ryan thinks something inside him breaks and lets go and succumbs and he can breathe, he can breathe, and he can sigh and kiss the hollow of Seth's throat.
They lie together in a tangle of arms and legs and whispers and kisses and touches, clothes still on, breathing ragged, until Seth nuzzles the side of Ryan's face, Ryan's temple, shifting underneath Ryan's weight.
"We gotta--"
And Ryan thinks he knows what Seth means, and he nods, but doesn't move, doesn't think he can. He sighs and burrows his face deeper and whimpers when Seth shifts again. But Seth brings their twined hands to kiss the back of Ryan's palm and nudges him to the side, slightly, and Ryan sighs but lets his body fall to the left side of the bed, Seth's side, while Seth wiggles from underneath and stands up.
Ryan rolls to his left side, only now feeling his sweats sticking to his body, and he grimaces because he should have thought about this before, as he woke up when Seth crawled into bed and then straddling Seth's hips when Seth finally fell asleep. He lifts his head from Seth's pillow as he hears Seth making his way back into the bedroom. The light is enough to see the outline of Seth's body, a silhouette he's becoming more familiar with, noticing the lack of sweatpants, the cloth in one hand.
Ryan smiles, falling on his back, and lifting his hips for Seth to pull down his sweats, and closing his eyes as Seth runs the washcloth over hipbones and inner thighs and light brown curls. He portrays the notion of a shower, but the laziness and heaviness on his bones is too much, too sweet, too perfect, to be given up so soon.
He closes his eyes, moving to his right when Seth nudges him with a hand on his hip. The bed dips as Seth falls on the bed, curling against him as though that was the only place he fit.
Ryan can feel his chest tightening once more but he brushes it away, leaning into the soft touch of Seth's weight on his left side, Seth's left hand finding his right one. A soft kiss, barest amount of pressure, dry lips against his shoulder, nothing but an uneven curl of breath between them. He smiles, shifting onto his side, his gaze flickering restlessly over Seth's nose, cheek, coming to rest on his mouth as he leans in to kiss again, lips barely parted, stubble grazing his jaw. His breathing hitches, stumbles, his fingers flex around the hand that holds his and he tilts his face to steal the breath Seth lets out.
He sighs, Seth shifting and settling, in the way they often sleep, Ryan on his back and Seth haphazardly laying against him, arm across his chest, hand on Ryan's hand, Ryan's arm around Seth's, resting on the small of Seth's back. They way they are, the way they've learned to sleep.
"I--" Ryan starts, though he doesn't know how to finish that sentence.
I found it, he wants to say, though he doesn't know what he was looking for in the first place.
"I love you," he says instead, because that's true and right and so long since he said it, since it didn't end in mid words that never found their way to his lips.
Seth smiles against Ryan's collarbone, kisses the sweat damp skin and nuzzles the hollow of his throat. Ryan was doing the same thing to Seth not even two minutes ago.
"I know," he whispers, mutters, breathes out. "I love you."
Ryan nods, sighs, can feel the pressure on his ribs, but it's different now. No ghosts without faces, merely state lines and closed eyelids, the distance from where he was and where he is now, and his left hand touches the side of Seth's face, distant places dissolving like smoke, skin and touch being enough.
Ryan blinks, slowly, eyes heavy and limbs even more so. There's pressure underneath his eyebrows, in between the bone and the muscle. His head pounds somewhere in the back of his eyes, but he's gotten used to it. Gotten used to the low pull of his eyelids from the pain, the habit of pinching the bridge of his nose, the question of whether it would hurt less if he just took out his own eyes with a fork.
He takes in a deep breath, eyes still closed, lifting his right hand to pinch his nose and feeling weight on it, fingers around his own. He smiles, opening his eyes and looking down at the hand curled around his, holding onto his as much as he is holding onto Seth's. His chest feels tight, suddenly, his eyes hurting but for different reasons, noticing the way their bodies fit together. He sighs, left hand rubbing the skin underneath it, Seth's right shoulder as he rests half on top of Ryan. Hesitant, his hand moves to stroke the hair away from Seth's face, smoothing it around his ears.
Ryan wants to bring Seth's face to his, to see the brown eyes up close, to kiss the high cheekbones, the line of the jaw, the soft lips, hear his name whispered against his kiss. He wants to see Seth, how he wants to, because he can almost feel it in his bones that he won't be able to, not for much longer. His peripheral vision is all gone to shit now, nothing but eight or nine inches of sight before him, all blurred as if seen through a thick glass, as if seen without his glasses, back in the day when his only concern with his eyes was wearing the glasses that made him feel like an idiot.
He remembers, countless morning, lying on the futon in the pool house, one arm resting on his forehead, the other asleep under a body he had fount upon waking in the middle of the night. He remembers, tilting his head to the left (Seth had always slept on Ryan's left, as if only sitting on a different place than when they have controllers in hand) and watching the brown-black curls above the edge of the sheets, or the line of a shoulder and contour of a breastbone, when the sheets would pool on Seth's waist and hips. He remembers, lying there, soft smile on his lips -- very much like at the moment -- and watch, allowing himself the small mercy of letting it all show on his face, his eyes wide open, his face relaxed and slack. It was easy, to let it out of his body and his veins and his pores, if only for a few minutes every other week. It was safe and healthy, he had thought back then. Seth was asleep, Seth wouldn't know, Seth wouldn't open his eyes and look straight at Ryan--
Like he's doing right now. Ryan's breath catches in his throat, his thoughts coming into a halt, and for a moment he's back then, four years ago, in a pool house with Seth on the futon and his secrets needing to be kept. But this is not then, this is now, this is him not quite seeing the dark brown eyes, the thin mouth, the line of his jaw. This is now and he can look at Seth and see and let Seth see and not worry, even if his heart beats rapidly in his chest and his hands start sweating. The hand holding his -- or the one that holds Seth's -- squeezes slightly and Ryan can breath out, low and deep on his throat, and blink and Seth shifts his weight over Ryan's body so they can kiss.
Ryan closes his eyes as he kisses Seth, mouth opening, tugging at Seth's lower lip, tongue daring to touch the corner of his mouth. He breathes in, smelling the residues of come in the air, the tang of Seth's shampoo, and the lingering remains of ocean that feel more like memory than smell. And the voices in the back of Ryan's mind stop being noises and become faces and flesh and color and textures.
His hands don't tremble, Ryan tells himself, even if they are holding tightly the mug in between both of them, head hanging slightly, warmth from the coffee inside touching his lips, his nose. Seth's moving around the kitchen, making scrambled eggs and checking on the toast. Ryan can still feel the hair on the back of his neck damp from his shower. Seth always showers first -- or has been, since he started sleeping in Ryan's bed -- and Ryan follows. Seth makes breakfast and by the time Ryan's walking into the kitchen, at least coffee is served and eggs are on their way.
He glances up, seeing the line of Seth's back, of his shoulders, and he looks back down at his mug. He shouldn't have-- But God, he couldn't stop himself. How the fuck did he get to this point? Oh, yeah, he put his fucking fist through the mirror, that's why.
He was fine. Before that, before... whatever it was he was thinking that afternoon. He was fine. He was dealing. He was handling it. He wasn't freaking out. He wasn't having a nervous breakdown. That's not him. He handles things. He can take anything and just keep fucking going. What the fuck is wrong with him?
Only, he couldn't. And then Seth had to be there and be sensitive when Ryan wanted to scream and punch something, anything really and then everything came pouring out and he said that--
I don't know how to do this without you anymore!
-- which was never meant to be said and Seth... Seth surprised him again and --
Live with you? Share a life with you?
I'm saying I love you
-- just stood there and said that and did that and then he was being kissed and it wasn't supposed to go like that. Seth was supposed to graduate and move on, get a job in another city and get married. Ryan was supposed to find a way to get on his with life, manage to find north and south without Seth's hand on his elbow, on his shoulder and Seth took that away from him and now Ryan has no idea how to do everything else.
That's why he did that. That's why he put space in between them. It's okay for Ryan to let Seth share his bed, hold his hand in the middle of the night, brush away the dreams of nothing but darkness and no footing underneath him. That's okay. Ryan can handle that. Because if Seth leaves
and he will leave. he'll leave. Seth will leave. of course he will leave. he was going to be left behind once already. Seth was going to go to Providence and then he just didn't--
then all Ryan would have lost was that, a compass, a center and a rock, not his whole life, not his whole fucking life--
"Eggs?"
Ryan blinks, Seth's silhouette before the stove, something oblong and blurry that he thinks it's a pan in one hand. He swallows, words still running through his head and his hand tightens around the mug. He nods, but doesn't say anything.
He closes his eyes shut, hangs his head, the coffee going cold in equally cold fingers.
He shouldn't have-- Last night, he shouldn't have. He was ready to let it all be nothing, let it all be forgotten. He wasn't going to do anything. He was ready to not do anything and then Seth crawled into bed last night and Ryan felt the bed dip, he's sure he felt the bed dip, but he must have been too deep under, because he didn't wake up. And then, then, he remembers sitting up and his heart beating on his throat and Seth lying there, just lying there, next to Ryan, his left hand still in Seth's right one. And he could see the edge of Seth's face, the line of his nose and down to his chin and jaw. It was perfect and it was just like Ryan remembered it and it fit and he needed to touch it, to touch him, even if only for one night, one night to know how Seth felt under him, how he smelled, how he sounded when he came. Just one night if Seth was going to move on and leave him behind.
He shouldn't have, but he couldn't stop himself. Even now, Ryan doesn't think he could have stopped himself.
A hand on his shoulder and Ryan looks up, eyes wide and bright and heart beating loudly on his chest and he doesn't want this, he can't have this. He can't. It wasn't meant for him. Seth was supposed to go to Providence with Summer back in 2007. Ryan was supposed to come here to Berkeley, alone. None of this was supposed to happen.
"Ryan?"
You don't love me, Seth. Ryan blinks, looks at Seth, can almost feel the words on his tongue. You don't want me. I'm going to blind, what could you possibly--
"What's wrong?"
He had never done that before, touch a man the way he had touched a woman. He had never-- But Ryan had never wanted another man like he had wanted Seth, had been wanting Seth so long, he can barely remember what it felt to not want him.
"You liked Summer," Ryan says with a breath and a shake of his head. "You were going to go to school with her. You were going to marry her."
"Ryan," is said, and Seth sounds almost pained and sorrowful and Ryan wonders what he's sorrowful about. "Ryan, Summer was... my Jimmy Copper."
Ryan frowns, not getting it, not seeing the connection between this and the Coopers. "What?"
"You're my Sandy Cohen."
Ryan shakes his head. "You like girls," Ryan says before he can stop himself. And fuck, that sounds so fucking high school.
Seth chuckles, shaking his head once before placing the plate he has in his hands -- scrambled eggs, easy, just like Ryan likes them -- before him. Seth reaches forward, hand cupping Ryan's face, and he wants to pull away, put as much distance before them as he can, but he can't, fuck, and he hates himself even as he leans into the touch. "I like you."
"Seth--"
"I thought we had covered this? About a month ago?"
Only it had never been covered. They had... said things and Ryan had thought the words were real then, but this is Seth. Seth, who loved Summer over a poem that wasn't even hers, and then Anna because she liked the same band. Seth, who left Anna for Summer and then left Summer for a boat. Seth, who wanted to be a bad boy for Alex and kept on chasing Summer. Seth, who lied to Summer even when he didn't want to. Seth, who didn't like Summer when she was smarter than him. Seth, who went to Brown and tried to talk the dean into letting him in because he wanted to be with Summer. Seth, who got engaged with Summer because he thought she was pregnant and whose heart broke when she finally said no.
Seth, who half the time doesn't know what he wants, doesn't stick by what he thinks he wants. Seth, who has Ryan's whole life in his hands, in between his fingers, and who will fucking leave--
"I don't know how to do this," Ryan whispers, finally, turning away, Seth's hand falling from his face.
"What?"
Ryan cringes at Seth's voice. Seth's voice
Hey. Do you want to play?
It's good for ideas.
So, I was thinking.
I'm thinking about going to Berkeley.
used to match his eyes, eyes which always used to say too much. Now Ryan has to read Seth, hear the words instead of the change in the face, the pull of eyes or the move of the mouth, and use the voice as a language, because sight has failed him.
"This." Ryan says with a snort, with a shake of his head. "You... me. Us."
Seth's hand, again, on his cheek and this time Ryan sighs even as he leans into the touch.
"Ryan," Seth says, leaning forward, placing a kiss on his temple, on the corner of his eyes, and Ryan turns around, Seth meeting his lips. "We've been doing this," he says against Ryan's lips, breath leaving Seth and Ryan tasting it on his tongue, "for the last six years. I think we're pretty good at this."
Ryan looks back at him, eyes wide and perfect blue, two shades too clear to be the Newport ocean, one shade too dark to be the sky. He can see him, Seth knows, Ryan can see him, even if only for so long, and Seth will take each and every hour of now until Ryan can't, and make them count.
Seth has learned that it's not in the things Ryan says, but in what he doesn't. Ryan's comment about girls was a decoy. Good one, too, but not enough. Ryan still doesn't believe him, doesn't trust that he won't leave, a year and a half from now, when he graduates and gets offered a nice, comfy position in an established publisher. It's okay. Seth deserves it. He hasn't exactly been consistent in his decision for the past six years. And he has the rest of his life to prove it to Ryan.
When Seth was fifteen, he thought Ryan hung the moon and lit it. Ryan had been his world, and he had actually gotten used to it. If Ryan needs him now -- even if he thinks it makes him look weak -- then Seth will enjoy that and be careful with it. And it doesn't matter if Ryan's perfect or flawed, or both. All it matters is that Ryan lets Seth love him, and loves him back. He can't ask for more.
Seth smiles, his other hand touching his cheek, tilting his chin up slightly, rocking forward on his heels and presses his lips to Ryan's. Tip of his tongue touches Ryan's upper lip, carefully, from corner to corner, and pulls away after another breath. Ryan looks back at him, eyes blinking, slightly dazed, as dark as the ocean they are both familiar with. Seth nuzzles Ryan's cheek with his nose, the corner where Ryan's nose meets his face, left hand moving to the back of Ryan's neck, right one touching the pulse point under the jaw.
After a moment, Seth pulls away and moves to the kitchen, picks up the toast and places them on two plates.
"Perhaps we should get a dog."
His hands still, one piece of toast held in between almost lack fingers, the other holding onto the plate that's staying in his hold almost against gravity. He swallows, hearing what Ryan isn't saying, a guide dog. Seth closes his eyes briefly, something catching inside him, something else letting go. It feels like he sags against the edge of the counter, but he thinks it's just his imagination.
He stands up straight, letting the toast fall onto the plate and picks up the other piece. He has a smile on his face -- easy on his lips, on his body, on his self -- and turns around, nodding at Ryan, who's looking back at him, and his mind can't stop but wonder if Ryan can see him, can see his eyes, just how much he loves him, in his eyes.
Seth nods, making his way around the counter, to the small table. "I think that's a good idea."
Ryan nods as well, taking some toast from the plate as Seth places it next to his mug. "Good."
Seth takes his seat -- Ryan at one side of the table, Seth on his left, Seth always on his left -- and reaches for his own mug of coffee. "Tomorrow?" Seth asks. Saturday. No classes. A bit of sun for both of them.
"Sure."
And it might not be easy, but they've never done easy before, so Seth's kinda used to that.
Yep. That's it. It's not really short, but it feels like that for me. I wonder why. *ponders*
Off to keep on watching Stargate. The show has ended, and I haven't even caught up with it yet. *g*
Also, you know me and comments, so let me know what you think about it! *bounces*
Title: Shadowboxing.
Author: M. F. Luder
Pairing: Ryan/Seth.
Rating: PG-13.
Category: Future fic. Drama. Me being evil. *nods*
Spoilers: Up to "The End's not Near, is Here", but with selective spoilers. *g*
Challenge: From fanfic100 and 45. moon. The rest of the stories can be found at Big Damn Table.
Author's note: Betad by popmusicjunkie this time around. I love you, babe!
Special thanks to popmusicjunkie, who I totally adore and love and she must know this, or I'll hurt her. *winks* You put up with me while I was writing this, and you nudge and pushed and threatened with bodily harm when it was mostly needed, and for that, I will love you forever. *nods*
one | two| three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven | twelve
Shadowboxing
VIII.
Nothing changes much, after that afternoon in late October. Seth doesn't push, doesn't think he could, even if his skin tingles with pent up energy and he wants to discover Ryan's skin under his clothes, figure out what makes him moan, makes him writhe. He takes the status quo and runs with it, takes his cues from Ryan, who doesn't reach for him, who doesn't kiss him.
He goes to his classes, talks very little of them for fear of tilting the fragile balance they seem to have reached. Ryan goes to his classes at the Braille Institute and Seth feels like an idiot from the moment he found out about Ryan's RP until this very second. Seth picks up Ryan one afternoon and while Ryan goes to the bathroom, Nick Langley pulls Seth to the side, away from the hallway from where people are coming and going.
Seth frowns, opening his mouth to speak but Nick is quicker.
"Have you thought about joining us in a few classes?"
Seth blinks, taken back and confused, and he wonders how Nick reads it when the man can't see it showing in Seth's face.
"You live with Ryan, right? Ryan said you've been living together for the past six years."
And Seth knows how that sounds. He coughs into his hand. "What he meant--"
"I know what he meant, Seth. Ryan explained how your parents adopted him."
Yeah, and that doesn't sound weird.
"My point is, you're the one living with him. You have to make changes in your everyday life--"
"I have!" And he has. He's learned not to be a slob anymore, on the sheer principle that if he so much as leaves a t-shirt on the floor, Ryan could fall face first against the edge of the coffee table and kill himself. Seth has never known motivation like that, enough to make him stop and think about where he puts everything.
"Yes, Ryan told me about it as well."
Seth blinks, seeing Nick -- about twenty years older than them, blind for longer than Seth has been alive -- tilting his head, as if hearing something Seth can't quite catch on, before turning around once again.
"I think it'd be good. For you and him."
That's all Seth needs. He nods, biting his lower lip as he notices his stupidity. "Sure, okay. I'll--"
"You can come to our morning session tomorrow?"
He has a class at ten, but he'll skip it. For Ryan-- He swallows. "Yeah, of course."
"Good. We'll set a few sessions around your schedule."
And it was done, just like that. Ryan walks out of the bathroom about two seconds later, and Seth smiles and thanks Nick and they make their way out of the Institute.
The next morning, Seth talks with the building commission -- three women, and they remind him too much of the Newpsies for him not to shudder -- and he finds out that they can have a dog, but they have to pay a fee to the building commission and he doesn't mind the fact that is one hell of a fee.
Seth wants a German Sheppard, a big dog that can get in between Ryan and a fucking car, if Ryan wasn't paying attention. And he realizes the reason behind his fixation with that bred one afternoon in the middle of class, when the picture of something he saw years ago, almost ten years ago, comes to mind. He remembers, watching this show about something or other and this woman, this blind woman, saying that she had been saved by her dog when she had fallen unconscious on her apartment. The dog had been a German Sheppard. The dog had saved her. Ergo, Ryan needed a German Sheppard. Weird, yes, but Seth had never really been a conventional kind of guy.
Seth sits at dinner with Ryan next to him, and he can't help but notice the little things, the way Ryan touches the edge of the table before his hands move from the edge to the center, to the plate, how by touch alone, he finds the silverware. His breath catches in his throat and he recognizes this as something Ryan has to have learned in his classes.
"I talked with Nick today."
Ryan blinks, lifting his face, blue eyes looking back at him. Blue eyes, perfect shade, blue eyes--
"Oh," Ryan says, and Seth has to blink to come here, to look at Ryan and not feel something inside him break. "Yeah," Ryan lowers his face, his chin, tilted to the side, away from him, and Seth can see the boy he met six years ago in that simple quirk. "He said he might talk to you."
"I'm going to class. With you. Tomorrow."
Ryan looks at him at that. "You have--"
"I can skip a class. Jane will lend me her notes, I'm sure. Don't worry."
Seth watches the way Ryan's lips pull, almost tight, and he knows Ryan wants to say something, add something, but he stops himself. He wants to grimace, to reach and turn Ryan's face to him and kiss him, but does neither from fear of being seen and felt.
They fall into silence after that, easy if not quite comfortable, and at night, dressed in loose sweats and a t-shirt, Seth still crawls into Ryan's bed, making very little sound. Not pushing, not like that night. He doesn't cover Ryan's body with his, he doesn't kiss the skin under his touch. Seth only lies on his back, on Ryan's left side, his right hand holding Ryan's left one, thumb caressing the back of the palm, when Seth feels Ryan's hand tightening in his in the middle of the night, in the middle of another nightmare, muttering reassurances in Ryan's ear that Ryan doesn't remember in the morning. The nightmares don't stop, but Ryan still doesn't talk about them, and because Ryan doesn't wake up screaming with Seth's name in his lips, Seth keeps quiet and worries in silence.
They fall into a routine, like they always do, like they do best. There's more to mobility training than Seth ever imagined, and he only watches Ryan during one session -- Ryan, blindfold over his eyes because there will come a time when he might not be able to see beyond his nose, touching the edge of a wall, steps hesitant -- and that was more than enough for Seth to feel like he might die if he has to watch it again, if he has to leave Ryan again in the hands of Nick, who says the first months are always the hardest but they've done hard and this certainly wasn't in the brochure.
Seth has a few sessions of his own. Different than Ryan's, teaching far too much, more than he ever thought possible. There are things he can do to help Ryan, to make it easier. Things he has to do for Ryan to be able to live in his very own home. Seth feels like he's two and an idiot after those classes. And he frets. And he feels like an idiot even as he frets. He thinks about therapy and knows Ryan will refuse. He thinks about buying a guide dog but doesn't want to push, specially after Nick tells him that Ryan will do so in his own time.
November passes in something of a blur. Ryan wears his dark glasses most of the time, and the pull on the corners of his eyes seem to be there, all the time, always, and Seth feels like something has gotten hold of his chest and will not let go. How do you breathe when all you can think of is worry in big bold letters?
They go to Newport for Thanksgiving because Seth's certain, only mentioning that the parents could make the trip instead of them will get him a glare and a pinched look Seth's trying to cut back.
They arrive on Newport on a Friday. The parents ask very little, instead let them set the mood. Ryan talks about his classes in the Braille Institute as he touches Sophie's face, almost as if trying to remember her. Seth mentions his only in passing. That afternoon, Ryan goes to lie down for a bit. Seth can see Ryan's headache getting the best of him in the frown in between his eyes, and the way Ryan's shoulders are set let Seth know that he hates to have to take a nap.
About half an hour after Ryan has gone upstairs, enough for Ryan to fall asleep and Seth breath a little bit easier, he talks to the parents. He tells them in short sentences, his hands clasped in his lap, about them not quite being together. He doesn't mention the hand on the mirror. He thinks about it for a second but doesn't, because he knows his mom will freak out and his dad will worry. And Ryan will hate him to the core.
After he's finished, Sandy tells him that this isn't something to play with and Seth glares at his father at the mere suggestion that he might. He loves Ryan, he tells them, and if Ryan doesn't want anything to do with him, if Ryan wants Seth to move to Antarctica, he will. Anything Ryan asks of him. And they are not doing anything Ryan doesn't start.
Their interaction doesn't really change. They don't kiss nor hold hands. The only difference is that Seth sleeps in Ryan's bedroom instead of the two of them in the pool house. Ryan doesn't mention the fact that the pool house is not longer his. No one does. If Seth feels his hand being held on such a tight grip that Friday, he doesn't say anything. If Seth wakes up twice that night, Ryan curled into himself and his back to Seth, hands gripping the sheets around him so tight his knuckles are white, Seth only brushes back Ryan's hair and touches his shoulder, down his arm, to take the hand back in his. If Ryan lets him and slowly uncurls, Seth keeps quiet about it as well.
Seth doesn't mind waking up and making his way to the bathroom, showering and then waiting for Ryan to do the same to make their way down to the kitchen. He doesn't mind waiting for Ryan to find his footing. He has the rest of their lives, he can wait.
The five of them try to have a nice and easy holiday. Seth wonders if that's even possible, the way everything changes around them, the way Ryan hesitates when reaching for a glass, when cutting his turkey.
He notices the way his mother hasn't renovated anything since their last visit. It's almost as if nothing has been moved, and he's grateful to her for that. And if he catches Ryan making mental blueprints, counting his paces from furniture to furniture, Seth doesn't say, doesn't ask.
The first night back in Berkeley, a Tuesday, Seth lying on his back, right hand in Ryan's own. He takes in a deep breath and Ryan's voice breaking the silence takes him by surprise.
"It's not that I don't... It's not--"
"I know," Seth says, nodding as he does so, squeezing Ryan's hand.
"I just..."
But the words are not found, and Seth doesn't need them anyway. He squeezes Ryan's hand once again, turning his head, nuzzling the shoulder where the hem of the shirt meets soft skin. He smiles against Ryan's t-shirt and whispers, "I know."
It had happened. They had talked. They had said what they had to say, Seth had said what he had to say. Ryan knows now, Seth thinks, a month after seeing glass on their bathroom and Ryan's right hand held to his chest by his left one. And this month, Seth had enough time to be anxious and upset and uncomfortable as much as he wanted to. He had to do it in silence, sure, but he could do it. He did it. He's past it by now.
And after all that, he was deliriously happy, being in love and finally having got what he wanted. Now, it's just a matter of waiting. And Seth might not be patient. But any collector knows that rare things, the ones that are really worth it, are the ones you must look and wait for.
Ryan, Seth thinks, is just a bit scared of him. That, like all, will pass. Seth knows the truth. Ryan's only frightened because he hadn't known he'd had Seth for the last six years, as well.
Two of the six events that had changed his life since he was fifteen had involved Ryan. Two of them had happened after he'd left school.
There was going to Harbor, which had isolated him, but changed him as well. He had graduated from that school with friends and a girlfriend, something he never thought possible, because Seth had been certain he was going to get sent to boarding school or die trying.
There was also not getting into Brown, which at the moment, for Seth, had been the end of his life as he knew it. He had been dating Summer back then, and though he had thought that was the path for him, the one reason he needed to get in was because Summer was going there and he needed to be there with her. He had been wrong, but he hadn't seen that until later. Marissa dying had been a shock for everyone involved. Had broken them a little bit, and even three years later, he thinks Ryan still has the cracks left behind. And after that, it had been Summer getting that job at George.
There were two more, which the man sleeping with his hand held tightly in Seth's right one had been directly entwined. The other two events had brought him to this point, to a small apartment in Berkeley, lying down in Ryan's bed, their hands clasped together.
He should count Ryan having RP as well, but it's too recent, too soon, the wound is still raw flesh under his touch, and it hadn't exactly changed what he had already known. He might see it different in ten years, know better. The way he does now, the two points in life that had changed his.
They even started the same way.
"Hey."
"Hey."
Seth had looked back at the kid standing at the French doors leading from the kitchen to the backyard. He had smiled, and that had been it. Easy. Simple. History.
The second time.
"Hey."
"Hey."
Seth had pushed past the doors leading to the pool house, stood by the futon, shins touching the sheets, and let the Tahiti map drop next to Ryan.
"I'm thinking," he had said, slowly, watching Ryan put the book he had had in his hand down on his lap and look at him. "I'm thinking about going to Berkeley on the fall. With you."
It had been the winter of 2007 and Seth had already spoken with his dad, who had called Paul Glass, who had gotten him in within the week.
Ryan had frown, tilted his head to the side. He was wearing his glasses because his eyes had been bothering him the last couple of days. Ryan had taken them off, pinched the bridge of his nose and put his glasses back on. He hated talking with someone without his glasses. Ryan used to say he didn't like talking with someone and not being able to see their face. Even now, at the memory of those words, Seth's chest does a funny thing in his ribcage.
"I thought you were going to RISD with Summer."
Seth had shaken his head, unable to come up with a really good explanation if Ryan were to ask more questions. But Ryan is Ryan, and he hadn't asked. He'd said, "Are you sure?" Seth had nodded, assured him that yes, he was sure, and Ryan had shrugged and asked if he wanted to play the new game they had bought the week before. That had been the end of it.
Seth blinks, looks down at the hand in his, or the one around his. He looks down at the fingers intertwine, but the light is too dim and he can't tell the difference between his and Ryan's. So he doesn't. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and lets Ryan's breathing lull him to sleep.
On Thursday night of that same week, Seth's sits on the couch, book in his hands. His eyes sting from the late night and the small font of the book, way past midnight and well into one in the morning. With a sigh and a groan, he lets the book fall closed on his lap after the last page has been read. He rubs his eyes with his fists, trying to remember the point of the book, the feeling behind the words and hopes against hope that he'll remember what he read for tomorrow. And it's all his fault, he knows, leaving a book for the last possible minute. And he could have read it during the break, but the last thing he wanted was to think about school while back home with Ryan.
Seth's already dressed in sweats and a t-shirt, and placing the book on the center table -- he has to remember to get it before going to school tomorrow -- he stands up and stretches, hearing more than one vertebrae pop. He groans at the stiff muscles, the back of his neck and his shoulder blades, before making his way to the hallway and into Ryan's bedroom.
He pauses by the doorway, leaning against the edge of the wood, arms folded on his chest. A few rays of light coming from the street light cast cream and yellow shadows with touches of gray in the room. He can see the corners of the room, the dresser, the bed and Ryan's on his back, eyes closed, head tilted away from him. Seth's face twists into a grimace, his throat a bit tight. They can do this, he thinks. Ryan can do this. Ryan's stronger than he thinks, than he believes himself to be. He's stronger than this--
Seth takes in a deep shaky breath, before pushing himself off the threshold and toward the bed. He pushes back the covers, crawling into bed and letting them pool around his waist. He closes his right hand into a fist, Ryan's left one barely inches from him, on top of the covers, curled and resting against his stomach. He wants nothing more than to take hold of the hand and rub the back of Ryan's palm with his thumb, caress the skin inside his wrist.
Biting his lower lip, Seth closes his eyes, shuts them tight, and pretends he can't see the reflection of light inside his close eyelids. His hand stays in a fist until, breaths later, he falls asleep.
He purrs in the back of his throat, feeling a smile on his lips. He thinks he sees nothing but dark and clouds and it feels like a dream, or a dream within a dream, but he doesn't complain, feeling content and happy and a little bit lazy. He sighs and shifts, maybe turns, he's not sure. He's relaxed and pleased and everything is good in the world, and he doesn't know why, but that's that, and it's good and he doesn't want to open his eyes and realize he's wrong, so he doesn't. He shifts again and moans, taking in a deep breath through his throat, mouth opened wide. His left hand holds on tight, tight, on something that yields under his touch and he smiles again, grins, and lets himself be turned into a muddle of something that's not quite muscle.
Something presses against his skin and he moans, his head thrown back and his hands grasping for something they can hold and this time, when he blinks, he knows he's not dreaming. His dreams have never felt this good, this powerful, this perfect and right.
He lifts his head, blinking at the darkness around him, the dim light through the pulled curtains, and his head is fuzzy with sleep and his eyes are not quite used to the shadows and the play of black and gray. But when he blinks again, he can see Ryan's looking back at him. Ryan, who's straddling his thighs, something he can't read in his eyes. Blue eyes Seth knows better than his own name blink back at him owlishly and for a second he wonders if Ryan can see him.
"Ryan?" Seth's voice cracks, and he clears his throat before trying again. "What--?"
But Ryan shakes his head, lowering his head, and it's only now that Seth notices that his sweatpants are low on his hips. Ryan smiles against Seth's skin, Seth can feel that, before his tongue darts out and touches the skin on his hipbone and words leave Seth's brain and all he can think of is oh, oh, OH.
His hands clutch at the sheets, but between one breath and the next, his left hand is taken in Ryan's right one and he looks up, blinks, tries to find it himself to focus and mouth words and finds himself lacking.
"I--" He starts, but his words ends there as Ryan pushes his t-shirt up to his chest, nuzzles the low of his stomach, the side of his navel and he thinks he can actually feel his eyes rolling back in its sockets. "God, Ryan--"
"Let me--"
Anything, Seth wants to say, but he can't, because there's a kiss being placed -- petal soft, Ryan's lips against his skin and Seth can die a happy man now -- on his stomach, the legs on either side of his tightening somehow, putting pressure on the outside of his thighs and he groans low on his throat, unable to stop.
A nose touches his skin and he bites on the inside of his cheek. Ryan, touching. Ryan, legs straddling his own. Ryan, nuzzling him. Ryan. Ryan. Ryan--
Ryan, who hasn't kissed him in a month, even after everything they said. Ryan, who is slowly going blind--
"Wait, wait." Seth pants as the words leave his lips and he doesn't really wants to say them, but this is Ryan, and Seth loves him too much to hurt him, even by not asking, but letting and not questioning before. "I thought you--"
Ryan blinks, looking up at Seth's words, at the wait wait that isn't quite spoken, but breathed out. The light is dim in the bedroom, the pull of the curtains shading his eyes, making it easier for Ryan to see the few details he can still catch. But it won't be for much longer. Even with easy light, with his glasses, even with a fucking miracle it won't be for much longer--
He can feel his throat tightening and the burning in his spine, in his lower belly subsiding, but he doesn't want that. He doesn't want to think about that, not here, not now. He's running out of time, God-dammit, if he hadn't been such a fucking idiot--
He leans forward, putting his weight on his hands on either side of Seth's chest, nuzzling Seth's neck, finding it hard to speak but needing to. And his words come out in a rush, like water from a broken dam, too fast and pushing one over the other,
"Not enough time, Seth. God. Not enough time. I don't-- I'm sorry, I shouldn't have. I shouldn't have--" And he doesn't know what he's saying, what he's trying to say, but it's coming out of his mouth fast and too deep to stop the words, so he buries his face in the crook of Seth's neck and kisses the skin underneath and tries to tell himself to breath.
I shouldn't have waited this long. I don't have time to wait this long.
"Hey, hey, hey."
There are hands on either side of his face, pulling him away from jaw and collarbone and skin, bringing his face close to Seth, so close, Ryan can see the brown eyes looking back at him, saying enough that words aren't needed.
"It's okay," Seth says, and Ryan feels like Seth's always saying that, always, always. "I'm here, Ryan. I'm not going anywhere."
It's not about Seth leaving, but about Ryan finding himself unable to see him. And how Ryan wants to, once, even just once, to be able to see Seth underneath him, hear him pant and know he did it, Ryan did that, put that broken voice there and be responsible for that, God, just once, just once.
"I want to see you," Ryan hisses through his mouth, lowering it and kissing Seth roughly, feeling his face in a scowl, the sting behind his eyes. He pulls away, kissing Seth's jaw, up to his cheekbones, his closed eyelids, the bridge of his nose, and somewhere in between the words pour from Ryan. "Your face, your eyes. Your eyes, a thousand times a day, Seth, what are you saying with your eyes?"
Ryan shifts his hips, feeling Seth's erection even through the sweats, hard against his thigh and Seth moans in the back of his throat, pushes against him and Ryan can't help but smile even through the pull of his lips.
"Let me, let me, let me--"
Let me see you, he thinks he says, but doesn't, instead kissing his path down to Seth's collarbone, as much as skin as he can touch over the collar of the shirt. "Off, off. Off."
Seth chuckles in the back of his throat, and Ryan leans back on his heels, legs stretching over Seth's hips, and Seth pushes himself up long enough pull the shirt off and throw it to his right, falling somewhere on the floor, between the bed and the window. Ryan can feel his chest tight even as he leans down, covering Seth's collarbone with his lips, his hands touching the expanses of Seth's sides, ribs and hips and fingers barely touching the muscles of the slim back. His brain unable to stop, words going behind closed eyelids, not enough time to map these lines and contours, to know them like the back of his hands, to need them like the air he breathes.
Seth gasps, low on his throat, when Ryan licks the skin at the edge of a hollow where the clavicles meet. He grins against the skin, feeling Seth's erection against his thigh, feeling his own against Seth's hip.
I did this, Ryan thinks, lifting his face and looking at Seth, eyes closed, head thrown to the side, mouth slightly parted, half gasping, half breathing. And he wants this and more, so much more, everything in this second, while he can still see Seth's face, see the skin under his touch, know the lines that aren't exactly state lines and make a map of Seth's skin in his mind, for when he will have nothing more than his fingers and his touch and his lips and his kisses.
A whole month, he can't help but think even as his cheek nuzzles the sensitive skin on Seth's breastbone. A month lost feeling every other step was faltering, uneven footing in every day changing meadows. He could have learned the skin under his fingers, he could predict responses by touch and smell and the way Seth arcs his back when Ryan licks the aureole of his nipple.
"Ryan--" Seth groans in between pants and Ryan smiles against the skin, his left hand holding on Seth's hipbone and pressing thumb against bone and Seth arcs his back once again, a muffled cry caught in between pleasure and pain.
Ryan lifts his face from the expanse of muscle and skin golden brown, reaches up to stroke Seth's face. He grimaces, not in pain but in sorrow, knowing he doesn't have enough time to memorize the curve of the cheekbones, the edge of his jaw. He knows them, from afar, from years of sitting on Seth's right side and glancing at the profile and knowing how it looks but not how it feels under his lips, under his fingertips. He wants to know -- ghosts without faces -- the shade of the skin he touches when he can't see it anymore.
It's different, different than it ever was with a woman. Different than with Cecilia, who kissed him behind her house, who let him touched her in her father's garage. Lisa, who placed his hand on her breast and unhooked her bra herself. Theresa, who used to grin before licking the underside of his cock. It's so different, because this time there are no soft curves, nor yielding body.
Seth opens his eyes, looks straight at Ryan, blinking but holding his gaze, brown eyes light and soft and in love looking back at him and Ryan thinks it's okay, he can do different. Ryan's hand skims over Seth's sides, over skin and muscle, and Seth's body yields under him, and it's not so different even he can't breathe, and then draws in a breath. Seth likes it when Ryan touches him like this, and Ryan has fallen in love with him as much for his words, his touch, his mind as for this line right here, the ridge of bone under skin, the small scar on his temple where he'd cut himself the first night at the beach party. The perfections and the imperfections and the way Seth knows just how to fit against him.
Their hips find a rhythm, quick and slow at the same time, his cock nestled in the ridges between Seth's thighs, the cloth rough against his skin, but there's not enough time. They are in too much of a hurry, it's been too long, they won't last long, they won't-- The edge of Seth's sweatpants, low on his hip, against the skin on his stomach, the feeling of Seth's cock hidden beneath, hard against his skin, pushing and pushing. It's too much and not enough, and Ryan lowers his face, mouth open against Seth's neck, throat, and his hand touches Seth's lower back, press apt fingers and hears Seth groan and shift and whisper, beg, moan, more, more, Ryan, God, more, please.
It's been too long, too long, he should have touched Seth like this months ago, that night when it was too much, when he broke and Seth picked up the pieces and put him back together, cracks from before and after, and all. He should have done this, hide his face in Seth's neck, smell Seth's hair and the tang of pre-come in the air and sweat and breath and air and the ocean and the sand and Ryan's right hand finds Seth's left one and twines their fingers and holds on tightly. Ryan's left hand digs into hipbone and soft skin and Seth's scream doesn't make it way out of his mouth but reverberates on Seth's throat and Ryan can feel it against his cheekbone and face and he presses harder, deeper, and Seth groans again, his hips bucking under Ryan's weight and with a silent inhale of breath, Ryan feels Seth come and groan and go slack.
Ryan's fingers keep their hold on Seth's hip, on his hand, face on Seth's neck, mouth wide open, lips on the jugular and he shifts and grimaces and closes his eyes and sees Seth's face in his minds eye, his fingers touching Seth. His breathing comes in pants, in ragged breaths, and when Seth's right hand touches the small of his back, presses, he breaks and comes, his voice silent, his eyes closed.
Seth's hand spreads on the small of his back, under the t-shirt he never quite shed, rubbing slow circles and for a moment all he can see is white in his eyelids, white and bright and perfect and sun and sand and he's seeing all this even as his body tingles and his ears resound the ocean, deep and roaring, with edges of whispered silence.
"I've got you," Ryan can hear muttered in his ear, against his hair, a kiss on his temple, a smile against his skin. "I've got you," Seth whispers again, and Ryan thinks something inside him breaks and lets go and succumbs and he can breathe, he can breathe, and he can sigh and kiss the hollow of Seth's throat.
They lie together in a tangle of arms and legs and whispers and kisses and touches, clothes still on, breathing ragged, until Seth nuzzles the side of Ryan's face, Ryan's temple, shifting underneath Ryan's weight.
"We gotta--"
And Ryan thinks he knows what Seth means, and he nods, but doesn't move, doesn't think he can. He sighs and burrows his face deeper and whimpers when Seth shifts again. But Seth brings their twined hands to kiss the back of Ryan's palm and nudges him to the side, slightly, and Ryan sighs but lets his body fall to the left side of the bed, Seth's side, while Seth wiggles from underneath and stands up.
Ryan rolls to his left side, only now feeling his sweats sticking to his body, and he grimaces because he should have thought about this before, as he woke up when Seth crawled into bed and then straddling Seth's hips when Seth finally fell asleep. He lifts his head from Seth's pillow as he hears Seth making his way back into the bedroom. The light is enough to see the outline of Seth's body, a silhouette he's becoming more familiar with, noticing the lack of sweatpants, the cloth in one hand.
Ryan smiles, falling on his back, and lifting his hips for Seth to pull down his sweats, and closing his eyes as Seth runs the washcloth over hipbones and inner thighs and light brown curls. He portrays the notion of a shower, but the laziness and heaviness on his bones is too much, too sweet, too perfect, to be given up so soon.
He closes his eyes, moving to his right when Seth nudges him with a hand on his hip. The bed dips as Seth falls on the bed, curling against him as though that was the only place he fit.
Ryan can feel his chest tightening once more but he brushes it away, leaning into the soft touch of Seth's weight on his left side, Seth's left hand finding his right one. A soft kiss, barest amount of pressure, dry lips against his shoulder, nothing but an uneven curl of breath between them. He smiles, shifting onto his side, his gaze flickering restlessly over Seth's nose, cheek, coming to rest on his mouth as he leans in to kiss again, lips barely parted, stubble grazing his jaw. His breathing hitches, stumbles, his fingers flex around the hand that holds his and he tilts his face to steal the breath Seth lets out.
He sighs, Seth shifting and settling, in the way they often sleep, Ryan on his back and Seth haphazardly laying against him, arm across his chest, hand on Ryan's hand, Ryan's arm around Seth's, resting on the small of Seth's back. They way they are, the way they've learned to sleep.
"I--" Ryan starts, though he doesn't know how to finish that sentence.
I found it, he wants to say, though he doesn't know what he was looking for in the first place.
"I love you," he says instead, because that's true and right and so long since he said it, since it didn't end in mid words that never found their way to his lips.
Seth smiles against Ryan's collarbone, kisses the sweat damp skin and nuzzles the hollow of his throat. Ryan was doing the same thing to Seth not even two minutes ago.
"I know," he whispers, mutters, breathes out. "I love you."
Ryan nods, sighs, can feel the pressure on his ribs, but it's different now. No ghosts without faces, merely state lines and closed eyelids, the distance from where he was and where he is now, and his left hand touches the side of Seth's face, distant places dissolving like smoke, skin and touch being enough.
Ryan blinks, slowly, eyes heavy and limbs even more so. There's pressure underneath his eyebrows, in between the bone and the muscle. His head pounds somewhere in the back of his eyes, but he's gotten used to it. Gotten used to the low pull of his eyelids from the pain, the habit of pinching the bridge of his nose, the question of whether it would hurt less if he just took out his own eyes with a fork.
He takes in a deep breath, eyes still closed, lifting his right hand to pinch his nose and feeling weight on it, fingers around his own. He smiles, opening his eyes and looking down at the hand curled around his, holding onto his as much as he is holding onto Seth's. His chest feels tight, suddenly, his eyes hurting but for different reasons, noticing the way their bodies fit together. He sighs, left hand rubbing the skin underneath it, Seth's right shoulder as he rests half on top of Ryan. Hesitant, his hand moves to stroke the hair away from Seth's face, smoothing it around his ears.
Ryan wants to bring Seth's face to his, to see the brown eyes up close, to kiss the high cheekbones, the line of the jaw, the soft lips, hear his name whispered against his kiss. He wants to see Seth, how he wants to, because he can almost feel it in his bones that he won't be able to, not for much longer. His peripheral vision is all gone to shit now, nothing but eight or nine inches of sight before him, all blurred as if seen through a thick glass, as if seen without his glasses, back in the day when his only concern with his eyes was wearing the glasses that made him feel like an idiot.
He remembers, countless morning, lying on the futon in the pool house, one arm resting on his forehead, the other asleep under a body he had fount upon waking in the middle of the night. He remembers, tilting his head to the left (Seth had always slept on Ryan's left, as if only sitting on a different place than when they have controllers in hand) and watching the brown-black curls above the edge of the sheets, or the line of a shoulder and contour of a breastbone, when the sheets would pool on Seth's waist and hips. He remembers, lying there, soft smile on his lips -- very much like at the moment -- and watch, allowing himself the small mercy of letting it all show on his face, his eyes wide open, his face relaxed and slack. It was easy, to let it out of his body and his veins and his pores, if only for a few minutes every other week. It was safe and healthy, he had thought back then. Seth was asleep, Seth wouldn't know, Seth wouldn't open his eyes and look straight at Ryan--
Like he's doing right now. Ryan's breath catches in his throat, his thoughts coming into a halt, and for a moment he's back then, four years ago, in a pool house with Seth on the futon and his secrets needing to be kept. But this is not then, this is now, this is him not quite seeing the dark brown eyes, the thin mouth, the line of his jaw. This is now and he can look at Seth and see and let Seth see and not worry, even if his heart beats rapidly in his chest and his hands start sweating. The hand holding his -- or the one that holds Seth's -- squeezes slightly and Ryan can breath out, low and deep on his throat, and blink and Seth shifts his weight over Ryan's body so they can kiss.
Ryan closes his eyes as he kisses Seth, mouth opening, tugging at Seth's lower lip, tongue daring to touch the corner of his mouth. He breathes in, smelling the residues of come in the air, the tang of Seth's shampoo, and the lingering remains of ocean that feel more like memory than smell. And the voices in the back of Ryan's mind stop being noises and become faces and flesh and color and textures.
His hands don't tremble, Ryan tells himself, even if they are holding tightly the mug in between both of them, head hanging slightly, warmth from the coffee inside touching his lips, his nose. Seth's moving around the kitchen, making scrambled eggs and checking on the toast. Ryan can still feel the hair on the back of his neck damp from his shower. Seth always showers first -- or has been, since he started sleeping in Ryan's bed -- and Ryan follows. Seth makes breakfast and by the time Ryan's walking into the kitchen, at least coffee is served and eggs are on their way.
He glances up, seeing the line of Seth's back, of his shoulders, and he looks back down at his mug. He shouldn't have-- But God, he couldn't stop himself. How the fuck did he get to this point? Oh, yeah, he put his fucking fist through the mirror, that's why.
He was fine. Before that, before... whatever it was he was thinking that afternoon. He was fine. He was dealing. He was handling it. He wasn't freaking out. He wasn't having a nervous breakdown. That's not him. He handles things. He can take anything and just keep fucking going. What the fuck is wrong with him?
Only, he couldn't. And then Seth had to be there and be sensitive when Ryan wanted to scream and punch something, anything really and then everything came pouring out and he said that--
I don't know how to do this without you anymore!
-- which was never meant to be said and Seth... Seth surprised him again and --
Live with you? Share a life with you?
I'm saying I love you
-- just stood there and said that and did that and then he was being kissed and it wasn't supposed to go like that. Seth was supposed to graduate and move on, get a job in another city and get married. Ryan was supposed to find a way to get on his with life, manage to find north and south without Seth's hand on his elbow, on his shoulder and Seth took that away from him and now Ryan has no idea how to do everything else.
That's why he did that. That's why he put space in between them. It's okay for Ryan to let Seth share his bed, hold his hand in the middle of the night, brush away the dreams of nothing but darkness and no footing underneath him. That's okay. Ryan can handle that. Because if Seth leaves
and he will leave. he'll leave. Seth will leave. of course he will leave. he was going to be left behind once already. Seth was going to go to Providence and then he just didn't--
then all Ryan would have lost was that, a compass, a center and a rock, not his whole life, not his whole fucking life--
"Eggs?"
Ryan blinks, Seth's silhouette before the stove, something oblong and blurry that he thinks it's a pan in one hand. He swallows, words still running through his head and his hand tightens around the mug. He nods, but doesn't say anything.
He closes his eyes shut, hangs his head, the coffee going cold in equally cold fingers.
He shouldn't have-- Last night, he shouldn't have. He was ready to let it all be nothing, let it all be forgotten. He wasn't going to do anything. He was ready to not do anything and then Seth crawled into bed last night and Ryan felt the bed dip, he's sure he felt the bed dip, but he must have been too deep under, because he didn't wake up. And then, then, he remembers sitting up and his heart beating on his throat and Seth lying there, just lying there, next to Ryan, his left hand still in Seth's right one. And he could see the edge of Seth's face, the line of his nose and down to his chin and jaw. It was perfect and it was just like Ryan remembered it and it fit and he needed to touch it, to touch him, even if only for one night, one night to know how Seth felt under him, how he smelled, how he sounded when he came. Just one night if Seth was going to move on and leave him behind.
He shouldn't have, but he couldn't stop himself. Even now, Ryan doesn't think he could have stopped himself.
A hand on his shoulder and Ryan looks up, eyes wide and bright and heart beating loudly on his chest and he doesn't want this, he can't have this. He can't. It wasn't meant for him. Seth was supposed to go to Providence with Summer back in 2007. Ryan was supposed to come here to Berkeley, alone. None of this was supposed to happen.
"Ryan?"
You don't love me, Seth. Ryan blinks, looks at Seth, can almost feel the words on his tongue. You don't want me. I'm going to blind, what could you possibly--
"What's wrong?"
He had never done that before, touch a man the way he had touched a woman. He had never-- But Ryan had never wanted another man like he had wanted Seth, had been wanting Seth so long, he can barely remember what it felt to not want him.
"You liked Summer," Ryan says with a breath and a shake of his head. "You were going to go to school with her. You were going to marry her."
"Ryan," is said, and Seth sounds almost pained and sorrowful and Ryan wonders what he's sorrowful about. "Ryan, Summer was... my Jimmy Copper."
Ryan frowns, not getting it, not seeing the connection between this and the Coopers. "What?"
"You're my Sandy Cohen."
Ryan shakes his head. "You like girls," Ryan says before he can stop himself. And fuck, that sounds so fucking high school.
Seth chuckles, shaking his head once before placing the plate he has in his hands -- scrambled eggs, easy, just like Ryan likes them -- before him. Seth reaches forward, hand cupping Ryan's face, and he wants to pull away, put as much distance before them as he can, but he can't, fuck, and he hates himself even as he leans into the touch. "I like you."
"Seth--"
"I thought we had covered this? About a month ago?"
Only it had never been covered. They had... said things and Ryan had thought the words were real then, but this is Seth. Seth, who loved Summer over a poem that wasn't even hers, and then Anna because she liked the same band. Seth, who left Anna for Summer and then left Summer for a boat. Seth, who wanted to be a bad boy for Alex and kept on chasing Summer. Seth, who lied to Summer even when he didn't want to. Seth, who didn't like Summer when she was smarter than him. Seth, who went to Brown and tried to talk the dean into letting him in because he wanted to be with Summer. Seth, who got engaged with Summer because he thought she was pregnant and whose heart broke when she finally said no.
Seth, who half the time doesn't know what he wants, doesn't stick by what he thinks he wants. Seth, who has Ryan's whole life in his hands, in between his fingers, and who will fucking leave--
"I don't know how to do this," Ryan whispers, finally, turning away, Seth's hand falling from his face.
"What?"
Ryan cringes at Seth's voice. Seth's voice
Hey. Do you want to play?
It's good for ideas.
So, I was thinking.
I'm thinking about going to Berkeley.
used to match his eyes, eyes which always used to say too much. Now Ryan has to read Seth, hear the words instead of the change in the face, the pull of eyes or the move of the mouth, and use the voice as a language, because sight has failed him.
"This." Ryan says with a snort, with a shake of his head. "You... me. Us."
Seth's hand, again, on his cheek and this time Ryan sighs even as he leans into the touch.
"Ryan," Seth says, leaning forward, placing a kiss on his temple, on the corner of his eyes, and Ryan turns around, Seth meeting his lips. "We've been doing this," he says against Ryan's lips, breath leaving Seth and Ryan tasting it on his tongue, "for the last six years. I think we're pretty good at this."
Ryan looks back at him, eyes wide and perfect blue, two shades too clear to be the Newport ocean, one shade too dark to be the sky. He can see him, Seth knows, Ryan can see him, even if only for so long, and Seth will take each and every hour of now until Ryan can't, and make them count.
Seth has learned that it's not in the things Ryan says, but in what he doesn't. Ryan's comment about girls was a decoy. Good one, too, but not enough. Ryan still doesn't believe him, doesn't trust that he won't leave, a year and a half from now, when he graduates and gets offered a nice, comfy position in an established publisher. It's okay. Seth deserves it. He hasn't exactly been consistent in his decision for the past six years. And he has the rest of his life to prove it to Ryan.
When Seth was fifteen, he thought Ryan hung the moon and lit it. Ryan had been his world, and he had actually gotten used to it. If Ryan needs him now -- even if he thinks it makes him look weak -- then Seth will enjoy that and be careful with it. And it doesn't matter if Ryan's perfect or flawed, or both. All it matters is that Ryan lets Seth love him, and loves him back. He can't ask for more.
Seth smiles, his other hand touching his cheek, tilting his chin up slightly, rocking forward on his heels and presses his lips to Ryan's. Tip of his tongue touches Ryan's upper lip, carefully, from corner to corner, and pulls away after another breath. Ryan looks back at him, eyes blinking, slightly dazed, as dark as the ocean they are both familiar with. Seth nuzzles Ryan's cheek with his nose, the corner where Ryan's nose meets his face, left hand moving to the back of Ryan's neck, right one touching the pulse point under the jaw.
After a moment, Seth pulls away and moves to the kitchen, picks up the toast and places them on two plates.
"Perhaps we should get a dog."
His hands still, one piece of toast held in between almost lack fingers, the other holding onto the plate that's staying in his hold almost against gravity. He swallows, hearing what Ryan isn't saying, a guide dog. Seth closes his eyes briefly, something catching inside him, something else letting go. It feels like he sags against the edge of the counter, but he thinks it's just his imagination.
He stands up straight, letting the toast fall onto the plate and picks up the other piece. He has a smile on his face -- easy on his lips, on his body, on his self -- and turns around, nodding at Ryan, who's looking back at him, and his mind can't stop but wonder if Ryan can see him, can see his eyes, just how much he loves him, in his eyes.
Seth nods, making his way around the counter, to the small table. "I think that's a good idea."
Ryan nods as well, taking some toast from the plate as Seth places it next to his mug. "Good."
Seth takes his seat -- Ryan at one side of the table, Seth on his left, Seth always on his left -- and reaches for his own mug of coffee. "Tomorrow?" Seth asks. Saturday. No classes. A bit of sun for both of them.
"Sure."
And it might not be easy, but they've never done easy before, so Seth's kinda used to that.
Yep. That's it. It's not really short, but it feels like that for me. I wonder why. *ponders*
Off to keep on watching Stargate. The show has ended, and I haven't even caught up with it yet. *g*
Also, you know me and comments, so let me know what you think about it! *bounces*