Bitter Nostalgia

[dainty-rouge.livejournal.com]

Title: Bitter Nostalgia
Author: dainty_rouge
Rating: Just a little swearing.
Pairing: Ryan/Greg
Summary: A bit of an angsty little thing. Set near the end of WLiiA? US where Ryan is starting to get burnt out. I've always wanted to write Greg like this; down and slightly bitter. He's an interesting guy.
Word Count: 890
Type of Feedback Desired: Any criticism would be greatly appreciated. 
Edit: LJs making the writing all wonky. Sorry if it gives you a headache :/

 

Ryan looks old. There's exhaustion in his eyes that pushes all the way down to the corners of his mouth when he attempts a smile. He offers a half-hearted greeting, muttering, "All right?" as he leans in to kiss Greg on the cheek. His breath is stale and it takes all of Greg's goodwill to not flinch when the smell hits his nostrils.

 They sit in the kitchen, sharing what's left of last night's dinner. When the wine runs dry, Greg finds beer in the fridge. Ryan doesn't explain why he's turned up on an hour's notice, and Greg doesn't ask. It doesn't matter; not for the time being, anyway. After ten years, he's come to expect these semi-unannounced visits.

 It's past two when Greg starts to hint he needs to sleep. Finally aware of his own ripeness, Ryan suggests a shower before bed, and Greg dozes off to the sound of water hitting skin and ceramic tile.

*

Greg wakes some time after dawn, his throat dry and his bladder full. Fumbling for his glasses in the dim light, he urinates first and drinks second, draining one glass of water as he leans against the hand basin, then another. Returning to bed, he's vaguely surprised that Ryan isn't there. They never discussed it; Greg just assumed he would crash there. He finds Ryan curled up on the couch, dressed in the same clothes as he arrived in. The television is on mute. Beer bottles lay on the carpet beside an empty pack of smokes, one bottle having found a second life as a makeshift ashtray.

 Greg stares at him for a minute or so. Ryan's forehead is dappled in sweat and he's drooling on the back of his hand where it rests beneath his cheek and chin. Greg takes the remote from the carpet and switches off the TV set.

 "Why are you here?" he asks.

 Ryan just sleeps.

*

It's late the next day before Ryan finally decides to open up. "I don't know what I'm doing," he states, cutting off Greg's idle chatter about the car he was considering buying.

 Greg's slight offense at having been interrupted is far overwhelmed by his curiosity. Getting up from his seat on the back porch, he walks into the kitchen and grabs the last of his beers, twisting off the caps as he returns to Ryan's side. Ryan takes one of the bottles without a thank-you, staring at it in his hands and smudging the condensation on the label with his thumb.

 "What do you mean?" Greg asks as he sits back down, swallowing from his own drink.

 With a small sigh, Ryan glances over before fixing his gaze back on the beer. "I think I'm just wasting my time."

*

Ryan kisses Greg in a thoroughly different way to the night before. Ryan's breath smells sweeter this time, edges of cumin and ginger from their take-out mingling with spiced cigarettes and the berry-flavoured vodka found buried in the freezer. "Don't," Greg whispers, tipping his chin to avoid a second and third mistake. "It's a bad idea."

 "That's never stopped you before," Ryan replies, sliding the heel of his hand against Greg's stomach, pushing his t-shirt up in bunches. "C'mon, for old time's sake."

 "Is that why you're here? For a nostalgic pity-fuck?"

 Ryan shrugs. "Is that so bad?"

 At least he's honest, Greg tells himself, sighing into the next kiss Ryan presses to his mouth.

*

There's nothing left of their passion anymore; the lust Greg once felt for Ryan is so distant a memory it feels like someone else's past. He's hard when Ryan reaches for his dick, but the contact doesn't make his stomach clench anymore. "I still miss you," Ryan admits as he drops to his knees. A scornful “bullshit” is on the tip of Greg's tongue, but he swallows it as Ryan swallows him, groaning with unexpected gratefulness. But Greg pushes back from Ryan, looking for the man he once thought he would always want and seeing the tired reality staring back at him.

 "Can we just fuck?" he asks, too frustrated to think straight.

 It's been a while; it hurts. Ryan apologises, tries to slow himself down, but Greg knows Ryan's too strung out to really care as much as he should. Afterward, they lie side-by-side in silence until sleep saves them from each other.

*

"I should go," Ryan announces the next morning. "I'm sorry about--" Words clearly fail him, and he just sighs instead of finishing his apology. "Y'know."

 Greg's still dozing; all he can do is mumble, "It's okay," into the pillow. He's not quite sure what he's forgiving Ryan for. For showing up unannounced? For the bad sex? "Do you, like, feel better?"

 "Not especially."

 Greg turns over at that and stares at Ryan. "Look, you don't have to leave if you're not ready. Hang here as long as you want. Really, it's cool."

 "Thanks," Ryan offers a vague smile that doesn't reach his eyes, "but I think it's best I go after last night."

 Greg wants to tell him to forget last night; reassure Ryan that they were both just drunk and horny; that bad fucks happen to good people, and that's fine. Instead he just nods and says, "Okay."

 Ryan is gone less than an hour later.