colin&ryan fic; 4/5
Jun. 23rd, 2006 04:37 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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wl_fanfictionImprobable Mission; Act 4
The first part is here.
The second is here.
The third is here
Colin/Ryan fic.
This one is NC-17 (so use your own discretion), 3782 words, unbetaed (point out any glaring errors). Never happened, no disrespect intended to my boys. I would cry tears of blood if I thought they might actually ever see this. Feedback is nice.
Lots of artistic license taken in this chapter. I suck at writing sexy; I'm sorry in advance. Also this chapter is kind of dedicated to Red, because she does deserve porn and cookies and a joint account. ;P
Lastly, I made a crappy banner *is a big, big dork*
"You are my sweetest downfall, I loved you first." --Regina Spektor (Samson)
It should have just blown over, Colin was hoping it might be that easy.
But it isn't. It never is.
Discomfort tends to spread. Onset, it ratchets up to a nine. Ryan is cold; seems to have (some might say rightly) taken offense at his comments, and only speaks to Colin when it's necessary, or in the script. Ryan, it turns out, is quite efficient at avoiding any other interaction, often retreating to his trailer at lunch and between scenes. Never blatantly rude, just evasive. A sort of Don't Ask; Don't Make Me Hurt You, sort of silence.
Not unbearable, just a little difficult to laugh at.
Colin picks through his noodle salad, making small talk with the other actors, knowing the whole thing is completely ridiculous, and that he should just apologise for over-reacting. He just can't seem to push away his pride long enough to do so. After all, Ryan was the one who'd over-acted in the first place.
What?
Colin pushes away his food, and excuses himself. Holy crap, he's not even making sense in his own head anymore.
Little known eighth sign of madness, clearly. If he starts debating with himself, it is going to get awkward.
Days pass, and somewhere amongst the cameras and glaring lights Colin makes a decision to stop thinking things to death. If he can't be a perfect friend, then he can focus on what he is good at. By throwing himself headfirst into the job, he is able to momentarily switch off his perpetual inner monologue. Ryan seems to have channeled most of his energies into his work too, and the next few weeks pass in a blur of words in place of talking, movements instead of actions, and some remarkably good takes. Neilson is ecstatic, and keeps telling them how in future he's going to employ them to coach all of his actors.
The fifth time he says it, Colin can't help himself, and in his slightly over-tired state he makes a mumbled, somewhat snide comment about just pissing them all off. Neilson looks understandably puzzled, but Colin out of the corner of his eye, glimpses Ryan grinning.
Funny how little it takes. In an instant any leftover resentment seeps right out of him. Colin opens his mouth to apologise, but Neilson is too fast, and cuts in, getting them back to work before he can say more than a word.
Later, then.
Putting a hand on Ryan's shoulder, warmth presses against the pads of his fingers, and Colin steps into character again.
He doesn't get a real chance to talk to Ryan till much later that day, when the sun is almost down, and Colin feels vaguely sinister creeping around the trailers in the orange half light. He briefly thinks about how it might have been much more effective if he'd covered himself in war paint and a shrub.
Ryan is, oddly, brushing his teeth when the door swings open, and so when he realises it's Colin, he just raises an eyebrow. It's not scathing, it's just a question.
"I came to --" Colin stalls, "--apologise."
Ryan shakes his head and says something that sounds like "I fwering teg ed." He walks away, and when he gets back, moments later; toothbrush and paste-free, he repeats himself "I was getting ready for bed."
"Oh. I can come back and apologise again tomorrow, if you want." Colin offers, then, a grin teasing the side of his mouth; "It's not like it's humiliating or anything. In fact, after I apologized to you I was going to just keep going, and apologise to everyone within a five mile radius. How does this sound? 'I'm sorry about the hoedowns, I'm sorry about that time I made out with Drew Carey, I'm sorry about the animal porn and the poo jokes, I'm sorry for Richard Simmons and I'm sorry for trying to sing--'"
"You can come in, if you stop doing that." Ryan replies, making a vague gesture that Colin guesses means the same thing.
Ryan's trailer is a predictable mess; clothes littered everywhere except the laundry basket, and bin overflowing with take-away containers. Despite that, it is remarkably inoffensive and smells slightly of tobacco, aftershave and something else not particular to anything. Indefinable, but irrefutably Stiles. It reminds him a little of his place in England. Colin slides onto a chair and smiles at the nostalgia. of course the apartment over there had also smelled strongly of pot fifty-nine percent of the time, obliterating most other odours.
Ryan makes a deliberate clearing noise in his throat.
"Right." Colin nods, remembering why he's here. He brandishes the whiskey bottle in his hand "Peace offering."
Ryan is leaning against the sink, arms crossed, looking altogether too big for the trailer. Colin once told his son that Ryan was so tall because his parents had stretched him out on a rack for telling fibs. Which had turned out to be a bad idea when Ryan's parent's had come to visit the set, and they couldn't find the poor kid for three hours.
Ryan's eyes glance briefly at the bottle, and a smirk cracks his face. "It's sweet that you brought me your complimentary Neilson stash."
Shit.
Colin frowns. "You too?"
Ryan nods, and opens the cabinet next to his head. There are five of the same whiskey bottles lined up inside.
"Hey, he gave you more than me." Colin says, offended. Three more to be precise.
Typical.
Ryan shrugs. "I am the one everyone likes best."
Colin doesn't really stop to contemplate whether this is true or not, he just shakes his head, feigning an appalled expression, and clutches his bottle to his chest. "This is mine." He mouthes the word 'mine' at again, just for emphasis.
Ryan is up, and moves toward Colin, grinning in a somewhat-menacing, mostly-ridiculous manner.
"No. It's too late, you already gave it to me. "
"Prove it" Colin challenges, now absolutely determined to keep it, he turns with an over-dramatic flourish, and darts for the door. He's almost out of it too, before Ryan catches his arm and spins him around.
"Hand it over, Mochrie."
Ryan is leaning over him, trying to intimidate him, his voice lowered to a deep throaty growl usually reserved for musical numbers and other things Colin's trying not to remember. Ryan's playing as though he's liable to take desperate measures if he doesn't give him what he wants. But Colin knows better.
He knows this game. He knows all of them.
"Alright, just--" Colin says the words slowly, stalling, trying to decide whether to lick the bottle, thereby claiming ownership, but running the risk that Ryan would still take it anyway. Or to just fling the goddamn thing backwards out the door, which would stop Ryan from getting it, but would also mean he wouldn't get any.
Colin makes a snap decision, and throws the bottle over his shoulder. There is a satisfactory smash.
He doesn't even like whiskey anyway.
And Ryan's expression is worth it.
"Considering that was a peace offering, I believe that means we're officially at war."
There's laughter in Ryan’s voice and when he smiles, it's wide and genuine. Colin notices a smudge of white toothpaste still stuck on his upper lip, and instinctively reaches out to wipe it away. It's nothing really, just a habit. An ingrained intention of goodwill. When the his thumb touches upper lip however, Ryan freezes, and then Colin, shaken by default, freezes too, his hand suspended in mid air, heat crawling up into his face, absolutely unable to move.
It's Ryan that moves in the end, his hand tightening around Colin's upper arm and pulling him forward so that he's forced into making eye contact with him.
Oh, Christ.
"Colin--" Ryan starts, eyes searching, his voice barely audible.
"I have to go to sleep." Colin blurts stupidly, ducking out of Ryan's grip and backing out through the door.
"Colin." Ryan says again, this time more forcefully.
There's an insistence in his voice that makes Colin stop mid-stride. Even silhouetted by the light of his trailer, Ryan's gaze is still uncomfortably intense. Colin notes, that for a guy that looks like a coat hanger, he can be remarkably unnerving at times.
'What?" Colin snaps, breath catching in his throat just slightly.
"I just---" Ryan stalls, and slowly his shoulders drop. "Forget it."
"Done." Colin says as he leaves, his boots crunching over broken glass. The irrational anger he can't quite place is back with full force, and crowding his skin like a flush.
Colin's shaken out of a deep, thick sleep by loud knocking on his door. Sluggishly, he notes how annoyingly classic this scenario is. If he's learnt anything about life it's that you'll never to fail to get a wake up call in the middle of a decent rest. Conversely, if you can't sleep at all, everyone in the world will take up a vow of silence, and laugh, silently, as you toss and turn your blankets into a veritable fishnet.
One big fishnet.
"Ryan?" He asks finally, barely coherent.
The incessant knocking stops. "No. It's Beca"
Colin drags himself out of his bed, wiping the corner of his mouth with his sleeve. Beca, the assistant director, a skinny, young girl usually hidden behind a mop of dark hair, is waiting at his doorstep, looking uncomfortable. And yet, now that he's thinking about it, he's not sure he's ever seen her look comfortable.
"Filming's been cancelled today. Mr Neilson is working on a rough cut of the film he wants to show the cast tonight." She passes him a small brown envelope. "It's at the Gate Theatre at eight."
"Wait, what?" Colin says, his sleep addled mind trying to grasp to situation, and doing a miserable job. "He's already got a rough cut? How is that possible? We haven't even finished"
Beca shrugs, now looking distinctly annoyed. "You know what he's like."
Colin just opens his mouth at her like a bizarre man-fish, so she elaborates further.
"Fucking crazy?"
"Yeah." Colin nods, licking his dry lips. "It still doesn't explain--"
"Look, I've got to wake everyone on the lot and tell them about this, I've got to go. Just --it's all on the invite anyway."
Colin nods again, this time at her back as she scuttles away, muttering under her breath. He opens the envelope, and Neilson (never one to spare expense) has scrawled in his own writing. "8pm. Gate Theatre. First cut! EXCITING! Bring booze and dress up! Also allowed; copious praise! XOX. Neilson"
That's it, Colin thinks. The man has lost his mind.
He shuffles back into his trailer and turns the kettle on, somewhat bereft of things to do now that his day is free. Colin switches on the television. Friends is on.
Colin switches it right back off. Television is a definite no-go.
He lies back on the bed, stretching out, and waits for the kettle to boil.
It's weird, watching yourself onscreen. Colin always finds himself feeling a little self conscious, and a little bit on the defensive. In some ways, it's a little like the first time he'd realised people talk about each other. His first insight had come by accident. In grade school Colin had found his friend's school book lying open with the words scrawled neatly in the corner "Colin Mochrie is stupid, I hope he gets boils on his face." There was shock, he remembers that, but the stronger feeling that had stayed with him, was that Marty Stevenson might have very well been right.
That's what its like, watching himself behind the camera, acting, doing a job. The fear that he will be utterly incapable, that someone will see all the reasons to dislike him. He can't act, he's not pretty, he's not funny. It's as though this might prove that the occasional self-doubt is justified. He's completely exposed, and when people see him, it might just make them hope he is growing boils on his face.
It's slightly dramatic, but it's how he feels. It's why he avoids reviews, producers, executives and large portions of the internet. He never could develop the tough, indignant indifference Ryan had.
Colin could pretend he didn't care, that was easy. After all, he'd made a living out of pretending. He'd never let anything show to the audience. But when the curtain closed, he still cared.
So he's nervous at the screening. Despite the fact that it's an incredibly rough, jumbled cut. Despite the fact that there are only about fifteen people there. Despite the fact that about eight of those people, including Neilson are blind drunk from too many dinner drinks, he's still nervous.
Worse still, when Ryan turns up, he doesn't help him relax like usual. In fact, Colin's first impulse is to rip his stupid orange tie off and hit him repeatedly with it. Ryan glances around the room at Neilson and another drunk cast member assaulting a plastic tree, and then grins at Colin.
"Bet you wish you hadn't smashed that whiskey bottle now, don't you?"
"I wish I'd thrown it at you." Colin replies, and skulks grumpily into the theatre. Ryan follows and sits next to him, so either he thinks he was joking, or he's incredibly dense.
The lights dim.
It turns out that Neilson, bless him, might have also been drunk while putting the clips together. The takes have no logical order, and quite a few are bad, and multiple takes. Colin finds himself laughing quietly through most of the nonsense, and he's not the only one. After twenty minutes he's not feeling self conscious at all, and logically, that was probably the reason things went the way they did. Since the whole movie thing had begun, he'd been able to relax for roughly four point two seconds.
The next take is the first attempts of the love scene where Ryan messed up repeatedly. Colin feels Ryan shift slightly in the seat beside him, and tempting as it is, he can't bring himself to mock him.
"I realised he wasn't the one for me. I realised the person I'd always loved, was right in front of me all along."
Colin shifts slightly himself, someone needs to turn down the heat in this theatre.
"You? What?"
"It was always you."
Onscreen, Colin grabs Ryan's wrist, and Ryan's hand shakes.
He hadn't noticed that on the day. Not at all.
"It was always you."
Somewhere, Neilson is yelling at Ryan for messing up the take, but Colin isn't watching anymore. His eyes are at his feet, his chest constricting, burning. His stomach somewhere in his throat, eyes watering. Once when he was young, he'd fallen out of the next door neighbours tree. The feeling of falling had stayed with him, as had the feeling of hitting the ground, having the air knocked out of him, dirt in his face, blood in his mouth.
This is the closest feeling he's had to that since.
Ryan puts a hand on his back. "Colin?"
He stands up, out of Ryan's grasp. Mutters something about going to the bathroom, and practically runs out of the theatre.
The Men's room is cooler, marginally, compared to the theatre. Colin splashes his face repeatedly with water, but can't seem to stop down the burning in his chest. He is pacing, and breathless when the door opens with a snap.
It's him. Ryan. The Bastard.
"Are you okay?" Ryan asked, his features strained with worry. "You ran out of there like--"
"What didn't you object?" Colin snaps angrily.
Ryan blinks "What?"
Colin wants to hit him. Pulverize him. Shake him till they both can't even see straight anymore, and this whole thing, --whatever it is --, is beaten right the hell out of both of them.
"You said you would object, and you didn't," Colin knows exactly what he's saying, but he's not in control; it's as though he's watching himself and now it's started, he can't quite stop it. "The priest asked and you said nothing. Why?"
There is a long silence. Ryan straightens up, looking straight at Colin. He's trying to remain impassive, but Colin has known him too long to buy it.
"You asked me not to."
Colin stares back. He did. He said that. He remembers now. But it doesn't help quell the anger, in fact, it only makes it worse.
"What kind of excuse is that?!"
"You said it was -what it was- was just fun between us!" Ryan yells suddenly, losing his cool completely .
"And since when do you listen to me?!"
"Fuck!" Ryan throws his head back in frustration. "Colin, you said you loved her!"
"I did! But I was in love with you!"
As soon as Colin says it, he regrets it, a wave of revulsion, embarrassment, shock, a mix of all three hits him like a brick to the face. He hasn't just said too much. He's said it, kicked dirt in its eyes and kidnapped its newborn baby.
Ryan is just staring at him, stunned.
"Oh shit." Colin stutters, just barely. He can't breathe, and he thinks maybe, or definitely he's going to vomit. So he does the only thing he can do; backs into a stall, and locks the door. When it clicks shut he collapses onto the seat and sticks his head between his legs.
Mochrie, you are a Stupid Stupid Stupid. There are people with only an inch of brain left who are less Stupid Than You.
There is movement outside the stall and Colin freezes.
"Open the door." Ryan's voice is calmer now.
"No." He replies stubbornly.
"Colin, open the fucking door."
"No."
Ryan sighs audibly. But Colin doesn't move an inch. The minutes tick by, and mercifully, Ryan finally gives up. Colin hears his footsteps on the tiling, and then the door opens and slams shut so hard that the stall rattles.
Colin breathes out with more force than he knew he was holding on to. Now if he can just get back to his trailer and avoid seeing Ryan Stiles for the rest of his life, everything will be perfect.
Colin gets up quickly, and fumbles nervously with the lock.
When the door swings open, Ryan is there, waiting for him. Grinning and unquestionably pleased with himself.
"I can't believe you fell for that, you mook"
Before Colin can reply, or shut the door again, Ryan moves fast, his hand on Colin's chest pushing, --forcing him back into the stall, kicking the door shut behind him. Colin sprawls backwards until his back hits the shockingly cold wall, and Ryan has him pinned against it, a knee between Colin's legs, hands pressed against his shoulders, hot and sweaty through his shirt.
Ryan is blinking furiously, his face pensive.
"I'd like to call in a late objection."
Colin's breath hitches, and he barely has time to consider what is happening, or how to respond before Ryan's mouth is on his.
And then he knows exactly what to do, because this is exactly what he's wanted --needed for too goddamn long. He leans into the kiss, parting his lips, welcoming the heat of Ryan's mouth, the taste of his tongue. Hot, sweet, wet, soft. So much better than their rehearsal, so much better than before, because they both want it this time, and they both know.
No pretending.
Ryan releases Colin's arms, and his own slide around Colin’s waist, warm, sending a frightening, glorious bolt of heat through Colin's stomach and groin. He cradles Ryan's face, running his trembling fingers through the deceptively soft curls, kissing him harder. Wanting him closer, crushing his body against his. Ryan apparently has similar ideas, untucking Colin‘s top, and soft, nimble fingers dancing up underneath his shirt, and over his skin.
His skin. Colin has to take a breath, the sensation, the knowledge of what they are doing a little overwhelming. When he does Ryan's looking at him, uncharacteristically vulnerable, eyes bright. Waiting for something.
Waiting for me to stop it, Colin realises.
I don't fucking think so, no.
Colin grips the back of Ryan's neck and pulls him into another fierce, desperate kiss, then sliding a hand down over hot skin till he finds Ryan's belt buckle. It's blessedly easy to get open considering how his hands are shaking, and how ferociously Ryan is kissing him. His hand skates over lightly over the material of Ryan's pants and then, abandoning modesty, Colin cups the semi-hard bulge of Ryan's cock. Ryan jerks forward slightly, swearing unintelligibly, and Colin is sure he's harder if only from the effect he's having on Ryan.
Ryan kisses his neck, and under his jaw, working at Colin's own belt, when Colin slides his hand down Ryan's pants and bypassing the rough hair, grasps Ryan's now fully erect cock, rubbing his thumb across the head. Ryan makes a choked sound in his throat and roughly pushes Colin's pants down so that they fall somewhere around his ankles. Colin's not quite ready himself for the feeling of Ryan's coarse hand on his straining cock, and he starts slightly. Ryan steadies them both with his free hand, grasping the top of Colin's arm.
They make eye contact, and it's just them. An unspoken agreement. Nothing else. This is theirs.
Ryan starts moving first, his fist around Colin's cock. A quick, continuous, blinding rhythm, that's so fucking good Colin barely keeps his grip on Ryan. But he's not going to let him down, not after all this, and Colin does gather himself enough; soon they are working with, not against each other, thrusting each other harder and faster. Colin is stuck somewhere between fear and elation, brain trying to keep focused despite Ryan’s ministrations, moans helplessly into Ryan's sweat soaked shoulder. Ryan, predictably, endearingly eloquent, swears repeatedly against Colin's ear, bucks forward into his hand.
When Ryan comes he bites down on the skin of Colin's neck, and falls forward. The splash of heat against Colin's hip is all it takes for him to hit the edge, and he’s gone. Colin‘s forehead is pressed against Ryan‘s. Hot, sweating, wet. Their breathing ragged, but holding on to each other still, as if anything less might let them both fall.
A door slams open, and they both jump. Neilson pissed, but oblivious voice yells at them through the stall.
"You fucking ungrateful bastards! What the hell are you doing? You missed the fucking climax!"
Colin claps a hand over his mouth, but it doesn't stop his sniggering. Ryan doesn't even attempt to restrain himself, and their combined amusement spills over, laughter in clear, joyous bursts that echo around the bathroom and out into the foyer.
tbc.
The first part is here.
The second is here.
The third is here
Colin/Ryan fic.
This one is NC-17 (so use your own discretion), 3782 words, unbetaed (point out any glaring errors). Never happened, no disrespect intended to my boys. I would cry tears of blood if I thought they might actually ever see this. Feedback is nice.
Lots of artistic license taken in this chapter. I suck at writing sexy; I'm sorry in advance. Also this chapter is kind of dedicated to Red, because she does deserve porn and cookies and a joint account. ;P
Lastly, I made a crappy banner *is a big, big dork*
"You are my sweetest downfall, I loved you first." --Regina Spektor (Samson)
It should have just blown over, Colin was hoping it might be that easy.
But it isn't. It never is.
Discomfort tends to spread. Onset, it ratchets up to a nine. Ryan is cold; seems to have (some might say rightly) taken offense at his comments, and only speaks to Colin when it's necessary, or in the script. Ryan, it turns out, is quite efficient at avoiding any other interaction, often retreating to his trailer at lunch and between scenes. Never blatantly rude, just evasive. A sort of Don't Ask; Don't Make Me Hurt You, sort of silence.
Not unbearable, just a little difficult to laugh at.
Colin picks through his noodle salad, making small talk with the other actors, knowing the whole thing is completely ridiculous, and that he should just apologise for over-reacting. He just can't seem to push away his pride long enough to do so. After all, Ryan was the one who'd over-acted in the first place.
What?
Colin pushes away his food, and excuses himself. Holy crap, he's not even making sense in his own head anymore.
Little known eighth sign of madness, clearly. If he starts debating with himself, it is going to get awkward.
Days pass, and somewhere amongst the cameras and glaring lights Colin makes a decision to stop thinking things to death. If he can't be a perfect friend, then he can focus on what he is good at. By throwing himself headfirst into the job, he is able to momentarily switch off his perpetual inner monologue. Ryan seems to have channeled most of his energies into his work too, and the next few weeks pass in a blur of words in place of talking, movements instead of actions, and some remarkably good takes. Neilson is ecstatic, and keeps telling them how in future he's going to employ them to coach all of his actors.
The fifth time he says it, Colin can't help himself, and in his slightly over-tired state he makes a mumbled, somewhat snide comment about just pissing them all off. Neilson looks understandably puzzled, but Colin out of the corner of his eye, glimpses Ryan grinning.
Funny how little it takes. In an instant any leftover resentment seeps right out of him. Colin opens his mouth to apologise, but Neilson is too fast, and cuts in, getting them back to work before he can say more than a word.
Later, then.
Putting a hand on Ryan's shoulder, warmth presses against the pads of his fingers, and Colin steps into character again.
He doesn't get a real chance to talk to Ryan till much later that day, when the sun is almost down, and Colin feels vaguely sinister creeping around the trailers in the orange half light. He briefly thinks about how it might have been much more effective if he'd covered himself in war paint and a shrub.
Ryan is, oddly, brushing his teeth when the door swings open, and so when he realises it's Colin, he just raises an eyebrow. It's not scathing, it's just a question.
"I came to --" Colin stalls, "--apologise."
Ryan shakes his head and says something that sounds like "I fwering teg ed." He walks away, and when he gets back, moments later; toothbrush and paste-free, he repeats himself "I was getting ready for bed."
"Oh. I can come back and apologise again tomorrow, if you want." Colin offers, then, a grin teasing the side of his mouth; "It's not like it's humiliating or anything. In fact, after I apologized to you I was going to just keep going, and apologise to everyone within a five mile radius. How does this sound? 'I'm sorry about the hoedowns, I'm sorry about that time I made out with Drew Carey, I'm sorry about the animal porn and the poo jokes, I'm sorry for Richard Simmons and I'm sorry for trying to sing--'"
"You can come in, if you stop doing that." Ryan replies, making a vague gesture that Colin guesses means the same thing.
Ryan's trailer is a predictable mess; clothes littered everywhere except the laundry basket, and bin overflowing with take-away containers. Despite that, it is remarkably inoffensive and smells slightly of tobacco, aftershave and something else not particular to anything. Indefinable, but irrefutably Stiles. It reminds him a little of his place in England. Colin slides onto a chair and smiles at the nostalgia. of course the apartment over there had also smelled strongly of pot fifty-nine percent of the time, obliterating most other odours.
Ryan makes a deliberate clearing noise in his throat.
"Right." Colin nods, remembering why he's here. He brandishes the whiskey bottle in his hand "Peace offering."
Ryan is leaning against the sink, arms crossed, looking altogether too big for the trailer. Colin once told his son that Ryan was so tall because his parents had stretched him out on a rack for telling fibs. Which had turned out to be a bad idea when Ryan's parent's had come to visit the set, and they couldn't find the poor kid for three hours.
Ryan's eyes glance briefly at the bottle, and a smirk cracks his face. "It's sweet that you brought me your complimentary Neilson stash."
Shit.
Colin frowns. "You too?"
Ryan nods, and opens the cabinet next to his head. There are five of the same whiskey bottles lined up inside.
"Hey, he gave you more than me." Colin says, offended. Three more to be precise.
Typical.
Ryan shrugs. "I am the one everyone likes best."
Colin doesn't really stop to contemplate whether this is true or not, he just shakes his head, feigning an appalled expression, and clutches his bottle to his chest. "This is mine." He mouthes the word 'mine' at again, just for emphasis.
Ryan is up, and moves toward Colin, grinning in a somewhat-menacing, mostly-ridiculous manner.
"No. It's too late, you already gave it to me. "
"Prove it" Colin challenges, now absolutely determined to keep it, he turns with an over-dramatic flourish, and darts for the door. He's almost out of it too, before Ryan catches his arm and spins him around.
"Hand it over, Mochrie."
Ryan is leaning over him, trying to intimidate him, his voice lowered to a deep throaty growl usually reserved for musical numbers and other things Colin's trying not to remember. Ryan's playing as though he's liable to take desperate measures if he doesn't give him what he wants. But Colin knows better.
He knows this game. He knows all of them.
"Alright, just--" Colin says the words slowly, stalling, trying to decide whether to lick the bottle, thereby claiming ownership, but running the risk that Ryan would still take it anyway. Or to just fling the goddamn thing backwards out the door, which would stop Ryan from getting it, but would also mean he wouldn't get any.
Colin makes a snap decision, and throws the bottle over his shoulder. There is a satisfactory smash.
He doesn't even like whiskey anyway.
And Ryan's expression is worth it.
"Considering that was a peace offering, I believe that means we're officially at war."
There's laughter in Ryan’s voice and when he smiles, it's wide and genuine. Colin notices a smudge of white toothpaste still stuck on his upper lip, and instinctively reaches out to wipe it away. It's nothing really, just a habit. An ingrained intention of goodwill. When the his thumb touches upper lip however, Ryan freezes, and then Colin, shaken by default, freezes too, his hand suspended in mid air, heat crawling up into his face, absolutely unable to move.
It's Ryan that moves in the end, his hand tightening around Colin's upper arm and pulling him forward so that he's forced into making eye contact with him.
Oh, Christ.
"Colin--" Ryan starts, eyes searching, his voice barely audible.
"I have to go to sleep." Colin blurts stupidly, ducking out of Ryan's grip and backing out through the door.
"Colin." Ryan says again, this time more forcefully.
There's an insistence in his voice that makes Colin stop mid-stride. Even silhouetted by the light of his trailer, Ryan's gaze is still uncomfortably intense. Colin notes, that for a guy that looks like a coat hanger, he can be remarkably unnerving at times.
'What?" Colin snaps, breath catching in his throat just slightly.
"I just---" Ryan stalls, and slowly his shoulders drop. "Forget it."
"Done." Colin says as he leaves, his boots crunching over broken glass. The irrational anger he can't quite place is back with full force, and crowding his skin like a flush.
Colin's shaken out of a deep, thick sleep by loud knocking on his door. Sluggishly, he notes how annoyingly classic this scenario is. If he's learnt anything about life it's that you'll never to fail to get a wake up call in the middle of a decent rest. Conversely, if you can't sleep at all, everyone in the world will take up a vow of silence, and laugh, silently, as you toss and turn your blankets into a veritable fishnet.
One big fishnet.
"Ryan?" He asks finally, barely coherent.
The incessant knocking stops. "No. It's Beca"
Colin drags himself out of his bed, wiping the corner of his mouth with his sleeve. Beca, the assistant director, a skinny, young girl usually hidden behind a mop of dark hair, is waiting at his doorstep, looking uncomfortable. And yet, now that he's thinking about it, he's not sure he's ever seen her look comfortable.
"Filming's been cancelled today. Mr Neilson is working on a rough cut of the film he wants to show the cast tonight." She passes him a small brown envelope. "It's at the Gate Theatre at eight."
"Wait, what?" Colin says, his sleep addled mind trying to grasp to situation, and doing a miserable job. "He's already got a rough cut? How is that possible? We haven't even finished"
Beca shrugs, now looking distinctly annoyed. "You know what he's like."
Colin just opens his mouth at her like a bizarre man-fish, so she elaborates further.
"Fucking crazy?"
"Yeah." Colin nods, licking his dry lips. "It still doesn't explain--"
"Look, I've got to wake everyone on the lot and tell them about this, I've got to go. Just --it's all on the invite anyway."
Colin nods again, this time at her back as she scuttles away, muttering under her breath. He opens the envelope, and Neilson (never one to spare expense) has scrawled in his own writing. "8pm. Gate Theatre. First cut! EXCITING! Bring booze and dress up! Also allowed; copious praise! XOX. Neilson"
That's it, Colin thinks. The man has lost his mind.
He shuffles back into his trailer and turns the kettle on, somewhat bereft of things to do now that his day is free. Colin switches on the television. Friends is on.
Colin switches it right back off. Television is a definite no-go.
He lies back on the bed, stretching out, and waits for the kettle to boil.
It's weird, watching yourself onscreen. Colin always finds himself feeling a little self conscious, and a little bit on the defensive. In some ways, it's a little like the first time he'd realised people talk about each other. His first insight had come by accident. In grade school Colin had found his friend's school book lying open with the words scrawled neatly in the corner "Colin Mochrie is stupid, I hope he gets boils on his face." There was shock, he remembers that, but the stronger feeling that had stayed with him, was that Marty Stevenson might have very well been right.
That's what its like, watching himself behind the camera, acting, doing a job. The fear that he will be utterly incapable, that someone will see all the reasons to dislike him. He can't act, he's not pretty, he's not funny. It's as though this might prove that the occasional self-doubt is justified. He's completely exposed, and when people see him, it might just make them hope he is growing boils on his face.
It's slightly dramatic, but it's how he feels. It's why he avoids reviews, producers, executives and large portions of the internet. He never could develop the tough, indignant indifference Ryan had.
Colin could pretend he didn't care, that was easy. After all, he'd made a living out of pretending. He'd never let anything show to the audience. But when the curtain closed, he still cared.
So he's nervous at the screening. Despite the fact that it's an incredibly rough, jumbled cut. Despite the fact that there are only about fifteen people there. Despite the fact that about eight of those people, including Neilson are blind drunk from too many dinner drinks, he's still nervous.
Worse still, when Ryan turns up, he doesn't help him relax like usual. In fact, Colin's first impulse is to rip his stupid orange tie off and hit him repeatedly with it. Ryan glances around the room at Neilson and another drunk cast member assaulting a plastic tree, and then grins at Colin.
"Bet you wish you hadn't smashed that whiskey bottle now, don't you?"
"I wish I'd thrown it at you." Colin replies, and skulks grumpily into the theatre. Ryan follows and sits next to him, so either he thinks he was joking, or he's incredibly dense.
The lights dim.
It turns out that Neilson, bless him, might have also been drunk while putting the clips together. The takes have no logical order, and quite a few are bad, and multiple takes. Colin finds himself laughing quietly through most of the nonsense, and he's not the only one. After twenty minutes he's not feeling self conscious at all, and logically, that was probably the reason things went the way they did. Since the whole movie thing had begun, he'd been able to relax for roughly four point two seconds.
The next take is the first attempts of the love scene where Ryan messed up repeatedly. Colin feels Ryan shift slightly in the seat beside him, and tempting as it is, he can't bring himself to mock him.
"I realised he wasn't the one for me. I realised the person I'd always loved, was right in front of me all along."
Colin shifts slightly himself, someone needs to turn down the heat in this theatre.
"You? What?"
"It was always you."
Onscreen, Colin grabs Ryan's wrist, and Ryan's hand shakes.
He hadn't noticed that on the day. Not at all.
"It was always you."
Somewhere, Neilson is yelling at Ryan for messing up the take, but Colin isn't watching anymore. His eyes are at his feet, his chest constricting, burning. His stomach somewhere in his throat, eyes watering. Once when he was young, he'd fallen out of the next door neighbours tree. The feeling of falling had stayed with him, as had the feeling of hitting the ground, having the air knocked out of him, dirt in his face, blood in his mouth.
This is the closest feeling he's had to that since.
Ryan puts a hand on his back. "Colin?"
He stands up, out of Ryan's grasp. Mutters something about going to the bathroom, and practically runs out of the theatre.
The Men's room is cooler, marginally, compared to the theatre. Colin splashes his face repeatedly with water, but can't seem to stop down the burning in his chest. He is pacing, and breathless when the door opens with a snap.
It's him. Ryan. The Bastard.
"Are you okay?" Ryan asked, his features strained with worry. "You ran out of there like--"
"What didn't you object?" Colin snaps angrily.
Ryan blinks "What?"
Colin wants to hit him. Pulverize him. Shake him till they both can't even see straight anymore, and this whole thing, --whatever it is --, is beaten right the hell out of both of them.
"You said you would object, and you didn't," Colin knows exactly what he's saying, but he's not in control; it's as though he's watching himself and now it's started, he can't quite stop it. "The priest asked and you said nothing. Why?"
There is a long silence. Ryan straightens up, looking straight at Colin. He's trying to remain impassive, but Colin has known him too long to buy it.
"You asked me not to."
Colin stares back. He did. He said that. He remembers now. But it doesn't help quell the anger, in fact, it only makes it worse.
"What kind of excuse is that?!"
"You said it was -what it was- was just fun between us!" Ryan yells suddenly, losing his cool completely .
"And since when do you listen to me?!"
"Fuck!" Ryan throws his head back in frustration. "Colin, you said you loved her!"
"I did! But I was in love with you!"
As soon as Colin says it, he regrets it, a wave of revulsion, embarrassment, shock, a mix of all three hits him like a brick to the face. He hasn't just said too much. He's said it, kicked dirt in its eyes and kidnapped its newborn baby.
Ryan is just staring at him, stunned.
"Oh shit." Colin stutters, just barely. He can't breathe, and he thinks maybe, or definitely he's going to vomit. So he does the only thing he can do; backs into a stall, and locks the door. When it clicks shut he collapses onto the seat and sticks his head between his legs.
Mochrie, you are a Stupid Stupid Stupid. There are people with only an inch of brain left who are less Stupid Than You.
There is movement outside the stall and Colin freezes.
"Open the door." Ryan's voice is calmer now.
"No." He replies stubbornly.
"Colin, open the fucking door."
"No."
Ryan sighs audibly. But Colin doesn't move an inch. The minutes tick by, and mercifully, Ryan finally gives up. Colin hears his footsteps on the tiling, and then the door opens and slams shut so hard that the stall rattles.
Colin breathes out with more force than he knew he was holding on to. Now if he can just get back to his trailer and avoid seeing Ryan Stiles for the rest of his life, everything will be perfect.
Colin gets up quickly, and fumbles nervously with the lock.
When the door swings open, Ryan is there, waiting for him. Grinning and unquestionably pleased with himself.
"I can't believe you fell for that, you mook"
Before Colin can reply, or shut the door again, Ryan moves fast, his hand on Colin's chest pushing, --forcing him back into the stall, kicking the door shut behind him. Colin sprawls backwards until his back hits the shockingly cold wall, and Ryan has him pinned against it, a knee between Colin's legs, hands pressed against his shoulders, hot and sweaty through his shirt.
Ryan is blinking furiously, his face pensive.
"I'd like to call in a late objection."
Colin's breath hitches, and he barely has time to consider what is happening, or how to respond before Ryan's mouth is on his.
And then he knows exactly what to do, because this is exactly what he's wanted --needed for too goddamn long. He leans into the kiss, parting his lips, welcoming the heat of Ryan's mouth, the taste of his tongue. Hot, sweet, wet, soft. So much better than their rehearsal, so much better than before, because they both want it this time, and they both know.
No pretending.
Ryan releases Colin's arms, and his own slide around Colin’s waist, warm, sending a frightening, glorious bolt of heat through Colin's stomach and groin. He cradles Ryan's face, running his trembling fingers through the deceptively soft curls, kissing him harder. Wanting him closer, crushing his body against his. Ryan apparently has similar ideas, untucking Colin‘s top, and soft, nimble fingers dancing up underneath his shirt, and over his skin.
His skin. Colin has to take a breath, the sensation, the knowledge of what they are doing a little overwhelming. When he does Ryan's looking at him, uncharacteristically vulnerable, eyes bright. Waiting for something.
Waiting for me to stop it, Colin realises.
I don't fucking think so, no.
Colin grips the back of Ryan's neck and pulls him into another fierce, desperate kiss, then sliding a hand down over hot skin till he finds Ryan's belt buckle. It's blessedly easy to get open considering how his hands are shaking, and how ferociously Ryan is kissing him. His hand skates over lightly over the material of Ryan's pants and then, abandoning modesty, Colin cups the semi-hard bulge of Ryan's cock. Ryan jerks forward slightly, swearing unintelligibly, and Colin is sure he's harder if only from the effect he's having on Ryan.
Ryan kisses his neck, and under his jaw, working at Colin's own belt, when Colin slides his hand down Ryan's pants and bypassing the rough hair, grasps Ryan's now fully erect cock, rubbing his thumb across the head. Ryan makes a choked sound in his throat and roughly pushes Colin's pants down so that they fall somewhere around his ankles. Colin's not quite ready himself for the feeling of Ryan's coarse hand on his straining cock, and he starts slightly. Ryan steadies them both with his free hand, grasping the top of Colin's arm.
They make eye contact, and it's just them. An unspoken agreement. Nothing else. This is theirs.
Ryan starts moving first, his fist around Colin's cock. A quick, continuous, blinding rhythm, that's so fucking good Colin barely keeps his grip on Ryan. But he's not going to let him down, not after all this, and Colin does gather himself enough; soon they are working with, not against each other, thrusting each other harder and faster. Colin is stuck somewhere between fear and elation, brain trying to keep focused despite Ryan’s ministrations, moans helplessly into Ryan's sweat soaked shoulder. Ryan, predictably, endearingly eloquent, swears repeatedly against Colin's ear, bucks forward into his hand.
When Ryan comes he bites down on the skin of Colin's neck, and falls forward. The splash of heat against Colin's hip is all it takes for him to hit the edge, and he’s gone. Colin‘s forehead is pressed against Ryan‘s. Hot, sweating, wet. Their breathing ragged, but holding on to each other still, as if anything less might let them both fall.
A door slams open, and they both jump. Neilson pissed, but oblivious voice yells at them through the stall.
"You fucking ungrateful bastards! What the hell are you doing? You missed the fucking climax!"
Colin claps a hand over his mouth, but it doesn't stop his sniggering. Ryan doesn't even attempt to restrain himself, and their combined amusement spills over, laughter in clear, joyous bursts that echo around the bathroom and out into the foyer.
tbc.
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Date: 2006-06-22 06:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-22 06:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-22 07:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-23 03:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-22 11:38 pm (UTC)Love the throwing the bottle, too. Would have liked to have seen Ryan's face after that myself. heehee
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Date: 2006-06-23 03:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-23 12:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-23 03:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-23 02:55 am (UTC)First of all, love the quote at the beginning as it is soo them. I love how you get inside Colin's head and show how he just can't resist Ryan's smiles and laughs. All the details are great, it's like I can see the scene happening in my head. And I love all the humor you insert in like the parents story and how his son hid away. Love their power struggle over the bottle, Ryan was just yummy all intimidating and Colin crashing the bottle was a perfect move. And then I just loved how intense it was, that one little gesture to his lips could stop them in their tracks and bring up so much heat and then Ryan's movements...gah so good.
Also, I love Neilson. He's just too funny and unique of a character. So sad though about the stupid comment and I like how it later comes into his doubts/criticism of himself. Ryan's little hand shake was just perfect in its simplicity and what it showed at that moment and how big its effect was. You describe so well, I can feel what Colin's feeling and that falling example was so spot on and graphic. And then their dialogue was just so full of truth and raw emotion, that one incident could still be so important. "I did! But I was in love with you!" just killed me with its significance, with the heartbreaking honesty.
Oh and the next scene was just unbelievably hot and had all my favorite elements in it, a little roughness, wall sex, super hotness, beautiful togetherness...it made me cry with how perfect it was. The pushing against the wall is yummy and the late objection line is soo good. The need, the desire so strong they can't get enough really shines through along with the "No pretending" line which is just everything this fic is about, that it's real. Ryan vulnerable broke me but then I don't fucking think so, no. is the best line ever and so true (because if you had stopped there, I would have killed you ;)).
They make eye contact, and it's just them. An unspoken agreement. Nothing else. This is theirs. That is the most beautiful line and really ties together the meaning and everything they feel for each other (SO much looove). And then it was all amazingly sexy and hot and sweaty to the end. I don't know what you were talking about, you write the hot gloriously. And the end made me laugh and released all that tension as they totally did NOT miss the climax. Not at all. Awesome fic, I'm totally loving this.
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Date: 2006-06-23 03:48 am (UTC)Yeah, I don't know what to say that would be sufficient thanks, but I do however, have a present for you. The quote you like at the start is from a great song. So I uploaded it for you if you want it;
Samson --Regina Spektor (http://www.yousendit.com/transfer.php?action=download&ufid=1B298B043CCC7D6A)
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Date: 2006-06-23 04:06 am (UTC)besides more fic). You deserve good feedback.Thanks so much for the song! It's absolutely beautiful and I love the lyrics. It so fits them, especially with Ryan's long hair in the past. He really did love him first...and last.
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Date: 2006-06-23 10:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-23 10:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-24 04:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-24 08:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-23 11:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-24 04:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-24 08:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-23 03:14 pm (UTC)*awaits eagerly*
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Date: 2006-06-24 04:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-24 12:04 pm (UTC)Wonderful. But only one more part? :(
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Date: 2006-06-24 04:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-26 03:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-08 04:46 am (UTC)I think my favorite part was the end where Neilson bursts in and says they missed the climax... *snickers*
And for some reason the part where Colin saw Ryan's hand shake on screen really got to me too... I guess because that was the moment where he knew that it was real, and I thought it was interesting that he only realized it while seeing it on screen, when they were supposed to be acting... 'Cause that's the way it is when you see them on the show, I think. Sometimes that line between them blurs so much I can't tell if it's real or if it's acting, and I don't think they can tell either...
Well, anyway, well done. :)
Emily :)