[identity profile] ratherdance.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] wl_fanfiction
Title: Strangeways (June 11th, 1985)

Author/Artist: ratherdance
Rating: PG-13, swearing and makeouts
Main Character(s) and/or Pairings: Colin/Ryan
Summary: A bargain is struck in a drunken jumble of limbs on Colin’s couch.
Word Count: 3470
Feedback: Very welcome!
Disclaimer: Never happened.

A/N: Another flangsty chapter! 2/2 so far. Many thanks to lovelies [livejournal.com profile] wickedground and [livejournal.com profile] roseofpain84.

Part I | Part II



“You’re taking forever with that door.”

“It’s alive! I shouldn’t have dared hope.”

Ryan just burrowed his face deeper into the nape of Colin’s neck for an answer. The man could be as snippy as he wanted, but the corridor was drafty and inhospitable, and while the strong back he was spread upon did provide some much-needed, spine-tingling warmth, his own back was cold as hell. He started fiddling with the buttons on Colin’s shirt under his hands; they were easy to access, since both his arms had been tangled around the man’s waist for a while now.

That was how they’d made their tottering way down the last blocks in the chill of Vancouver’s small hours, their lockstepping walk punctuated by Col’s periodic readjusting of Ryan’s weight on his back. He had foregone smoking in order to keep his arms firmly on Ryan’s to make sure he wouldn’t slump backwards, so the whole thing had basically been a piggyback ride without his feet having left the ground. Nice was definitely how he’d describe this method of transportation, but also slow, which was mostly his fault since he’d shut down to the lowest possible level of independent movement shortly after leaving the Western Front, but whatever. And now Col was apparently determined to try every single key in his ridiculous keychain before letting them into his flat where it was probably cozy and toasty and home, and if the floor would just stop spinning Ryan would probably have to teach him a lesson. Sucker-punch him. Kick his ass. Bite his lower lip again. Something.

A sudden thought made its treacly way to the front of his mind. “Wait, are you breaking into someone’s house? That why it’s taking so long?”

Colin laughed; Ryan shivered. He could touch the ripples of laughter on Col’s stomach, feel them in the shifting tautness of the tendon his sleep-softened lips were resting upon, set the heaving of his chest to the cadence of Colin’s silently shaking back. And that was also nice. He started hating the corridor less, only to immediately turn to hating the final click of the lock.

Another tug and he was half-dragged, half-hauled through the door. “Come on in, then.”

“Home sweet home,” said Ryan. He felt Colin’s nod rather than saw it, then kicked back lazily and surprised the both of them by managing to connect with the door, slamming it shut with a bang.

“Neighbours,” hissed Colin.

Ryan pursed his lips in protest and the skin on Colin’s neck broke out in goose bumps. He smiled and let himself be pulled towards the couch, where Colin finally untangled their locked limbs and laid him down on the ratty cushions. He held onto Col’s hand for a moment longer, enjoying the feeling of slowly sinking into the pillows from the living lifeline of their entwined fingers.

“You stay here now, I’ll get us some water.” He could’ve sworn Colin smiled too, before pulling away and taking off into the dark recesses of the flat. A crooked, momentary thing of a smile, but he’d take it.

Mmmright.” He rested his head on the armrest and allowed his eyelids to flutter shut. It turned out to be a bad idea; now that he didn’t have the polestar of Colin’s solid form up close, the booze coursing through his veins jumped on the chance to make the room lurch at will. He rubbed his eyes and mouthed an expletive when he remembered the mascara. It was probably all across his cheekbones by now.

He’d better force himself upright or risk proving how much worse Col’s terrible couch could look and smell, so he held his head and swung his long legs down to the floor. He realised that the pomade had partly solidified in his hair when he pressed on his temples and they crinkled. That would be a bitch to get out. But a shower sounded like advanced rocket science at the moment, and he didn’t have any other clothes.

Ryan sighed and stumbled towards the shelves in the opposite wall with outstretched hands. He didn’t know whether to be grateful or pissed that Colin hadn’t turned on the lights. His fingers found a stack of cassette tapes and he started rifling through them, squinting at the covers. “Hey, you got some great records here,” he called out into the darkness. And what the hell, it was probably true. Col had always had great taste, he wasn’t going to question it when he couldn’t even focus. And he wanted the guy back in the room. There had been way too much abandonment going on that night, between his late arrival to the concert and now this. Was he dowsing for that water or what?

Colin’s voice came from somewhere off and to the right. He didn’t take the bait. “How would you know? You don’t listen to music.”

Ryan pulled a face in the dark. “That’s what you think. Only a few hours ago I was making history at this smashing concert—”

“Oh, really? Do tell.”

“Well, there’s this band. They’re British, a fucking drag, you know the type. But with my pointers—”

“— Your pointers—” interrupted Colin with a laugh as he entered his field of vision. He handed him a tall glass of water, but there was something off about the glass he kept for himself. Either his vision had truly gone, or that was some seriously thick, dark water Col was drinking. Ryan snatched the glass from his hands and brought it to his nose with a triumphant flourish that spilled half the contents over his shirt. His eyes widened and he barked out a laugh, while Colin seemed to be torn between berating him for wasting the scotch he’d been hoarding or laughing at his just desserts. Now both their shirts stank just the same.

He mixed his water into the remaining scotch, split the drink evenly and handed Colin one of the glasses. “Yes, pointers, you lush— and you should be ashamed of yourself. If I might carry on with the story, then—”

“So sorry. Do go on,” said Colin as he walked towards the couch. Ryan grabbed a hold of his forearm as he walked past him, only to get twirled by the other’s momentum. He careened backwards onto the pillows, barely saving his drink from further spilling, and crashed the two of them firmly into the couch.

They were silent for a few seconds while the room settled around them. Now, if only Ryan could regain a modicum of control over his body, like managing to check where his legs had landed, he was of half a mind to add another notch to the victory post, since his improvised stealth pirouette attack had brought him back to resting against Colin’s side.

Not that he’d pass the chance to complain. “Well, now I’m dizzy, thank you very much.”

“And I’m crushed. My ribs and your big head— they don’t go together,” retorted Colin, but he didn’t push him off. Instead, the man’s strong fingers carefully shifted him so he’d be resting higher up on his chest, and the ghosting touch of him across his cheeks and jaw sent a shiver down Ryan’s spine.

But he was silent for a tick too long, and Colin pulled his hands away from his face. Ryan pursed his lips. Maybe the man just wanted a drink of watered-down scotch. And needed both hands to do it, yeah.

He sighed. “Serves you right. Anyway, the Brits. They coulda been contenders if they’d followed my pointers—” He threw his arm back wildly, angrily; but some twitch must’ve given him away, because not only did he not impact against Col’s glass but his hand was caught by the other man’s. Well, he could work with that. “— But a conspiracy struck.” He made his way blindly from Colin’s hand to where his head was supposed to be, and landed on an earlobe. He gave it a little tug before moving his fingers on to his friend’s perpetually diminishing hairline.

He could feel the eyeroll on Colin’s voice. “Let me guess. A balding conspiracy.”

“Yep. And now they’ve brought me here with some nefarious purpose—”

“The conspirators.”

Ryan blindly touched the tip of Colin’s nose, barely avoiding poking him in the eye too. “The balding conspirators.”

Why won’t I learn not to encourage you.”

“Because you’re the villain.” He twisted around in the couch, turning to Col and narrowing his eyes at him. He tried not to mourn the warmth lost by pulling away. “And villains never learn.”

But his narrowed eyes seemed to have the opposite effect than intended. Now that they were face to face he could see that Colin had his old oh this will be good face on, the one that belied a pursed smile with some seriously deep dimples. He liked that face. “I’m the villain? Why am I the villain?”

“‘Cause I’m the hero. And you,—” he poked Colin’s chest with a finger, “— you’ve kidnapped me.”

Col grasped his hand easily as he attempted a second poke, and he had to fight the grin that threatened to do away with his righteous look. His opponent was unimpressed. “Awful cozy treatment you’re getting for a kidnapped hero.”

It was time for a change of strategy, so Ryan turned his hand in Colin’s grip, twining their fingers together. He let his smile grow and turn feral and hoped that whatever runny make-up hell his face must have become would work with him and not against, then tugged on Col’s arm to pull him closer. “That’s only because you want to get in my pants.”

“Of course, the old sexual domination ploy.” Colin laughed and looked away, but his hand stayed in Ryan’s. “I guess I am the villain.”

“First step is admitting it. C’mere, now.” He pulled him into a hug and felt a pang of doubt about carrying on. Maybe they could just stay like this— like so many times before, when being pulled into a hug had been the last conscious memory for both of them. Maybe they could just shut up and hold each other into a stupor, the rushing in their ears rising and drowning them, their breath falling into a synchronised lulling rhythm without their even trying. They’d done it at each one of Ryan’s old places, at Jim’s, even backstage one time where they’d had nowhere else to go. Colin had broken them into the League that day. Then again, Col had had this flat back then, so he guessed they had, in fact, had someplace to go. They just hadn’t gone. He hooked his chin onto Colin’s shoulder, smelling of cigarettes and spilled scotch, and sighed. “Know why you’re the villain?”

“I thought it was because of the hair. Possibly also the corduroy, you’ve made it clear you’re not down with that.”

“Those don’t help, no. But the thing is, the thing is— this is the first time I’ve been here.”

“What?” Colin’s easy tone shifted to confusion.

Ryan pulled away and stood up unsteadily. “This is your secret lair I’ve finally infiltrated.” He threw his arms open, pointing at the shelves and the doors that lead to the unknown rest of the apartment. He snorted; the whole thing was turning out very showdown with Fräulein Maria in The Sound of Music, so he sing-songed his next words. “You didn’t want me here.”

Clearly, Col had finally gotten his drift, judging by the way his face fell to annoyance. “Oh come on, Ryan. Drop it, will you?”

Just saying,” he kept singing, his voice wheezy from all the twirling. He was going to regret this very soon, but not just yet.

“Are you seriously still going on about that?” Colin asked. There was a rustling sound he couldn’t place over the pounding in his ears, and then he was abruptly pulled to a stop by the grip of a strong hand on his arm. Ryan couldn’t focus on his face— it was too close. But his tone was terse when he spoke. “Alright then. Since you want everything spelled out for you: you can come by anytime you need. Always could. Always will.” He could feel Colin’s hand tremble on his forearm, but still the pressure stayed just enough to steady him. They were so very different about that. Ryan never cared about the how when he touched Col, yet Col was always meticulously measured about it. He got so lost in the idea that he almost missed what Colin said next. “Not that you’ll need me.”

He blinked, forcing himself to look into those brown eyes. “What?”

Colin smiled gently. Whatever it was that he’d thought of, it had all but done away with the tremor in his voice. His hand left Ryan’s arm; the last touch he got was a good-natured clap on the shoulder. “Well, you know this is a fluke.”

He took a step back, walking out of reach of that irritating shoulder-clapping. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean that you’re going places, Ryan.” And again with the gentle smile— but no, it wasn’t just gentle. He might be drunk, but he could still tell. It was— luminous is what it was. It was joyful, and full of pride, and the fact that Col was looking at him like that while walking away made him want to scream. There might have been a bittersweet downcast to his eyes, but not enough to make up for the cleft he opened in his chest. And still Colin kept going with that blasted smile on his face, so confident in his choice, so comfortable on the path that led away from him. “You won’t need my flat, or Jim’s, or anyone’s. You’ll get some mansion with Pat and that’ll be it.” He laughed. “I’ll come visit. We’ve always known you’ll be huge.”

“Actually—” he mock-grimaced and pressed his hands to his inner thighs, pulling his pants tighter over his groin. He’d lived with this low-simmering anger with Colin for so long that he could stand to hit the brakes for some platter-served innuendo.

It worked, too. Colin stopped beaming at him at last. He chuckled and raised his hands, conceding the point. “Yeah, I guess I was asking for that one.” And just like that he reached for his drink and had a sip, turning away like the conversation was over. As if what he’d said was some god-given truth that there could be no point in arguing.

And normally Ryan would’ve left it at that. They’d never had an argument and he relished that about them, that inherent acceptance that informed their every interaction— sprung from complimentary personalities or from so many years on stage together, he couldn’t say. But then again he’d anticipated that they would yes-and their whole lives around each other, circling and darting off in any number of unplanned directions just because some sudden spark on the other’s mind had set them on a new course.

He realised he’d been looking forward to it. “Y’know, Col, that’s not how it’s gonna be.”

“Sure.” Colin downed the rest of his watery scotch and left the glass on the shelf. Didn’t turn his way once.

“I’ll still need your flat.”

“Good thing you know your way now,” he chuckled.

“Nah, you won’t be here anymore. You’ll be somewhere else. Both of us, we’ll be huge.” Colin tilted his head and turned to him with a disbelieving smile on his face, which he hadn’t been expecting. “What’s funny?”

Another chuckle escaped Col’s lips. “Nothing. Nothing—”

“No, you tell me,” interrupted Ryan, something cold twisting at his stomach. He put his glass next to Col’s, even though he hadn’t finished, and trained his gaze on the annoying dimly lit smile on his friend’s face that was making it hard to think straight.

“It’s just— I don’t need a pep talk, Ryan.” Colin threw his hands up in the air. “I know my place. And I know you’re not stopping. You’re going places. And it’s alright, I’m not jealous or anything.” His smile broke then, and Ryan was grateful. He certainly couldn’t have smiled, and he would’ve hated him if he’d kept smiling. Col took a step towards him and put his hand on the crook of Ryan’s neck and shoulder, warm and close and tender, and it felt like embers on his skin. “I’m happy for you— I’ll be happy for you, and I’ll do well here. I like my place.”

Your place is with me,” snarled Ryan, slapping his hand away. Colin’s eyes widened in disbelief and he fell back. “You heard me. Whatever modesty crap you’re pulling, stop it. This huge career you see for me— you’re not sitting it out. I won’t let you.”

“Alright, Ry,” said Colin in a quiet voice.

“I’ll fucking drag you by that horrible shirt, d’you hear me?”

Alright.”

“You’re not staying behind. No fucking way.” He took another step towards Colin and rested his hands on the wall behind his head, leaning down to look into his face.

“Alright, Ryan.” But he didn’t look at him, and his tone was clipped.

“You don’t believe me.” He almost managed to hide how close he’d been to choking on those words. This wasn’t working out— this was exactly why he’d always tried to navigate his life as a series of easy choices. But this stupid game of theirs, it made him do things he’d never—

“Well, you’re drunk.”

“And you are an asshole,” was his automatic reply. Fuck his wallowing self-pity and fuck Colin and his oh-so-rational wish for stagnation. As soon as he remembered where the door was he was out of there. He pushed himself off the wall and spun around, letting the room dance around him and enjoying how supremely shitty it made him feel.

“What are you doing?”

“Leaving.” And there it was, that strong hand that caught onto his wrist like clockwork, but he wasn’t going to give in this time. Still he was turned around against his will and he pulled away impatiently. “Colin, let me go—” And then he had to shut up, because payback was an excellently brought-up young lady and Col’s lips were wet and warm enough to bring him to distraction. Colin balled his fists on his shirt and pushed him against the wall and still the kiss deepened, and Ryan realised just how petrified Col had been when he’d kissed him on the street, because this was nothing at all like that one, it was breathy and breathless and his knees might actually buckle if he did that pillowy lip curl thing against his mouth again.

But then he was left gasping and clutching on air, because Colin pulled back and fixed him with a darkened glower. “You— you never stop pushing. I should just let you go—”

Ryan’s lips crashed against Col’s again. “Don’t,” he said, keeping a close hold on his face.

I can’t, you idiot,” replied Colin, his voice tinged with such desperation that Ryan pulled away. “What, is this news to you?”

“Dunno— it’s been a confusing night. I was almost mauled by goths three hours ago.” He wasn’t sure which one of them he left the escape hatch open for, but there it was. A set-up for joking it all away.

But Col didn’t take it, and he was relieved. And terrified. “Well, I can’t. And I should, because I’ll just fall behind in the end.”

“No.” He peppered kisses on his lips, around his lips, and in his mind he didn’t stop saying it. No.

“I won’t keep up.”

“You will. I’ll carry you. You will.”

“I can’t trust you,” said Colin, and the strange thing was that it didn’t even hurt.

 Their mouths found each other again, and he broke away for just a second. “You can,” he all but mouthed on Col’s lips. And then they were pulling on each others’ shirts— which, really, they should’ve done much earlier, those shirts were a mess— and walking blind towards the couch and spilling all over it, limbs askew and skin burning. Colin was straddling him and he couldn’t open his eyes, just clasp and touch and bite while his mind went supernova. He kissed his neck and shoulders, dug his fingers down his back, and pushed hopelessly into the grind of Colin’s hips.

A small part of him remained detached, though; wondering why now, why never before, and whether this door could ever be shut again.

As he caught Colin’s earlobe between his teeth, he decided he didn’t care. He had a promise to keep.





.

Date: 2013-06-17 04:00 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] wickedground.livejournal.com
Fuck omg the angst at the end. How Colin was so broken behind his cheerful facade and Ryan's kinda misplaced anger until he finally caught on what is happening. They are so dysfunctional and so right, I.just.can't.

Date: 2013-07-05 01:31 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] roseofpain84.livejournal.com
Hey, I finally read it.
I feel.....weird now.
It was good ofc.
I knew it'd be good.
And I knew it'd make me sad.
But still, it's good.
And Colin's 'I can't'. Geez...gah. Now I can't.

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