Story: "Serenade"

[indybaggins.livejournal.com]

Author: Indy Baggins
Title: Serenade
Pairing: Colin/Ryan/Greg
Rating: R
Summary: On the last sun-lit day of the fall Ryan plays guitar, Colin lights a fire and Greg is celebrating something.
Author’s notes: This fic has a few (light) Brokeback Mountain references, but only because I thought it fit them. Also threesome sex, obviously, but the sweet ‘n gentle kind. Very strange use of flashbacks, but ehm... I had a headache writing this... *snickers*
Beta was done by anesthesiagirl who is awesome like that *smiles* Also thanks to Emma, who feels my pain is always lovely to be around when there is a deadline around the corner ;)

Happy birthday Clay!




Ryan was sitting an ends away from the house, cradling his old guitar in his hands. He hadn’t played in a long time, and he momentarily wondered why the guitar had even come out of it’s casing that afternoon, before his hands, seemingly on their own accord, travelled to play the first notes to a blues song.

The sun had set just a while ago, and it was getting harder to see the cords, but he didn’t need to look at his hands, the old motion not needing any thought.

He toed off his shoes while unconsciously hitting the same cord a couple times over again, stuck in a memory of something that didn’t quite come out right, and he put his bare feet on the slightly damp grass, before reaching for the bottle of scotch he had taken with him, three-quarts empty and luke-warm from being out in the sun. He took a swig, letting the liquid stain his lips, holding it in his mouth until it burned, and then swallowed thoughtfully while his fingers moved to lie on the strings again, in an almost reverent pause before he raised his voice in barely more than a whisper of a long-remembered song.

His voice sounded torn and raw from too much drinking and smoking and maybe even laughing as he sang into the silence of their backyard, soft and low, some song that wasn’t quite a love song -but could have been- and he remembered only half the lyrics to.



“Hi, I’m Colin,” he had said.

And it hadn’t been love at first sight.

Not even second.

It had been slow and gentle and safe, like a best friend, like a whisper tugging on the back of his mind, too gentle to be spoken out loud.



Colin was putting away the last of the barbeque supplies, a dull headache starting to form behind his eyes, but a content tiredness to his step as the many jokes and remarks made by their friends on that perfect last sun-lit afternoon of the year slowly were replayed in his mind.

As he bent down to rescue an “I am the cook” apron from the grass and folded it, a slight breeze ruffled the trees to the side of the house, with it some loose, brown leaves, and cooled his heated cheeks. He realized he must have gotten sunburned. He put the apron on the table, and reached for his beer, taking a thirsty gulp before holding the still-fresh bottle to his cheek and sighing.

When the porch door opened behind him, he didn’t even turn around.

“They’re all gone,” Greg announced, and Colin smiled when he felt a steady and warm hand placed on his lower back. They stood that way for a while, connected but not really, until Greg moved his hand from Colin’s back to capture his waist, silently inviting him to lean back against his chest. When Colin did, they both swayed a little, tired from a good, long day.

Another gust of wind ruffled the trees, and with it they could hear a hint of the guitar being played. Without having to say so, they both knew they were looking at a hidden spot in the back of the garden, where a white t-shirt clad figure was just visible in the darkening evening.

“He looks like a cowboy…” Greg noted, next to Colin’s ear, the smell of cigarettes and alcohol on his breath, and Colin laughed, imagining a horse next to their lone ranger in the garden. Sighing softly, he closed his eyes and leaned back into Greg some more, feeling grounded in his warmth. Greg’s slightly stubbly cheek grazed the side of his neck and then his heated cheek, before pressing a warm kiss to the side of his mouth. Turning slightly, he responded to it blindly, contently tracing his tongue over Greg’s. It was slow, wet and unhurried, and Greg ran his hand under Colin’s shirt in a move that was luxuriously thoughtful, a promise for more, later.



They had met in a hurry, a quick “Hello” and that had been it. But through time, through words, soft touches and the absence of anything else, they had connected.

Greg was beautiful when he smiled, Colin had noticed.

And in the end, that had been enough.




Ryan heard the soft rustle of someone approaching over the grass, and didn’t look up from the guitar as he felt a quick touch on his shoulder. Instead he said, smirking “You finally got them to leave us alone?”

Greg scowled a little, mumbling something about how some people don’t know when to fucking leave, dropped the woolen blankets he had brought on the grass and lowered himself down next to Ryan with a sigh, already fumbling for his cigarettes.



“God Ryan, I don’t mind that you love him…” Colin had said, and Ryan wondered at the lack of accusation in his voice.

He didn’t know yet that Colin would never accuse him of anything.

Neither would Greg.



As Colin walked up from their storage shed, arms laden with wood, he could hear both Greg’s and, somewhat softer, Ryan’s voice rolling through the garden, obviously in a conversation. As he came closer, he could heard Greg say “…have to hear forty-seven one more fucking time…” and Ryan’s responding laugh.

As he dropped the wood in the fire pit, Ryan was taking another drink, still smiling. Greg moved up to help with the wood, using the support of Ryan’s knee to get up and holding on a little longer than he needed to, sharing a soft, unguarded moment with Ryan.



“We’re good though, together.” Ryan had mumbled under his breath once, looking off to the right side of the hotel wall.

“No we’re not” Greg had snorted, and Ryan, after a pause, had smiled widely. “True.”



When the fire finally started burning it was startlingly hot, the flames springing up towards the sky, lighting Colin’s rosy cheeks and reflecting in Greg’s glasses.

They all scooted a little closer to the warmth, rearranging, Ryan’s knee to Greg’s back, Colin’s feet touching Greg’s legs, blankets spread on the grass.

In the relative silence of their yard they could hear the crackling of the fire, the occasional call of a bird, and when Ryan started playing something vaguely familiar both Colin and Greg suddenly looked up, a question in their eyes.

Ryan, swallowing and distinctively not looking at one of them more than the other, took a shaking breath and started singing “He… was a friend of mine…”



“This is Colin,” he had said.

‘My best friend once,’ he hadn’t said.

Greg had understood anyway.



Colin could feel Greg sit up a little straighter next to him, and they exchanged a short look. “Every time I think about him now…”



They had spent most of their years longing, not having.

Thinking, not feeling.

It had crushed them, changed them into something bitter and unwanted.



Ryan turned to look them both in the eyes, and Colin could feel an all-encompassing stab of pain at his expression. They all had been through so much sometimes it was hard to forget that it -most of it- had been mended now. “I just can't keep from cryin'…”

Colin could feel the beginning of tears in his eyes at that, until Greg, whose gaze never strayed from Ryan, found Colin’s hand under the blanket, and clasped it, tightly. “'Cause he… was a friend of mine…”



“We’re all friends, we can deal with this.” Greg had said.

“How do you want me to fucking deal?” and “Ok” were spoken at the same time.

He had never been so scared of Colin in his life.



The song ended on a sore note, with Ryan sucking in an audible breath, and coughing awkwardly.

As the sound died down, Colin reached for Ryan’s hand over the neck of the guitar, and pulled him off the tree stub to come sit on the heap of grass and blankets between them.
Greg, swallowing against the tightness in his throat flashed a quick look at Ryan and spoke “that was a serenade man,” and Ryan, after a pause, replied with a hint of self-consciousness “Well, it’s a classic.”

Then, almost as an afterthought, both Greg and Colin pressed closer to Ryan, who let himself slide back until he was lying flat on his back on the grass, and mumbled into his arm something that could have been “…getting old” or maybe “…drank a lot,” neither of them really heard more than the intention, and neither had to ask.

They fell silent after that, a soft, more breakable silence, that passed as Greg motioned to Colin to pass him the almost-empty bottle of scotch and Colin obliged, taking a long draw and coughing a little as the strong taste hit his throat before passing the bottle on to Greg.

Ryan started rummaging in his jeans pocket before retrieving a heavily battered pack of cigarettes, randomly selecting one and reaching out with his long and slightly trembling arm to casually light it in their fire. Bringing it to his mouth, he inhaled routinely, squinting his eyes as he spotted the stars in the sky for the first time that night.



“Why do you want to quit though?” Ryan had asked.

“Because I have enough with what I have, now.” Colin had replied, looking at them both.

Greg had shook his head, like he didn’t know what he was talking about, and Ryan had nodded, once, a faint wonder in his eyes.



“Good day, today,” Ryan spoke, to no one in particular, and Colin replied, a slightly raw quality to his voice, “it was nice…” Greg didn’t speak, but copied Ryan’s method of lighting a cigarette, almost burning his fingers in the process (while uttering a slight “fuck!”), and then agreed to the general sentiment by putting a warm hand on Colin’s back, and rubbing slow and sensual circles there.

At his touch, Colin felt the desire from before return in a warm and unhurried wave, and he reached for Greg’s hand, bringing it up to his mouth to trace the fingers with his lips, taking one into his mouth, sucking slightly.

Greg moaned “Hmm…’ and moved closer to Colin, stroking the beginnings of his erection over his back, making sure Ryan’s eyes were on them. Bringing his cigarette to his mouth he took one final drag and then flicked it into the fire, moving forward to open Colin’s pants.

Colin laughed softly at his vigor, a warm flash of affection in his eyes, and helped him to unbutton his jeans, leaning backwards once it was done. Ryan rolled to his side to watch them, and they locked eyes briefly before Colin closed his at the sensation of being engulfed in Greg’s mouth.



“I want to suck Colin off.” Greg had said, trying to gage Ryan’s reaction as he saw his eyes narrowing, grip around his beer tightening.

“Bet he’d love it.” Ryan said, and he had smirked awkwardly.



Greg had done this a million times, knew when to softly nip his teeth, when to suck, when to lick, but for Colin it was mainly the warmth he remembered, the all-encompassing wave of heat, flushing his body, the heat in Ryan’s hands as he reached out and captured his fingers.

Ryan helped him get out of his shirt and moved in closer, locking their eyes, raking his hand through Colin’s silver white hair and whispering “Col…” before kissing him deeply.



“I am not,” Ryan had said.

“You are.” Colin had decided, a strange calm in his voice. “He told me.”



When Colin came it was between flashes of Ryan’s mouth, his smell, the feeling of Greg’s mouth on him and Greg’s fingers raking over his thighs searching to connect with Ryan, and he was pulled into more warmth, radiated between the three of them, tipping over the edge.

After a moment Greg moved in to share a soft, tender kiss that Colin could feel resonate on his lips long after Greg had turned and started kissing Ryan, hands gripping in Ryan’s hair.

Colin crawled to his knees and undid Greg’s belt, lowering his pants and kissing Greg’s erection, licking the tip and tasting him before Greg pulled him up and said “I want you here.”

So he joined hands with Ryan somewhere around Greg’s stomach and they both touched Greg, one on each side pressed against him, Ryan sucking an earlobe into his mouth and Colin placing soft, butterfly kisses on Greg’s collar bone.

When they trailed their hands lower to encircle Greg’s erection it was in union, and to the soft cries of Greg. When Greg was close, Ryan moved his hand to the other side, pressing into Greg as he came. They stayed close around him as his breathing slowed, and he looked at them both, gratefully.

After a while Ryan coughed and Greg whispered something into his ear, and Colin moved closer to the warmth of the fire, laying back, letting the heat relax him.



“I want to watch.” Colin had said, and they both looked at him as if he was crazy.

It had been the best idea he had ever had.



The next thing he saw was the image of Ryan’s naked chest, the fire playing on his shape, and Greg sitting on top of him, pants still around one ankle, moving up and down in a slow rhythm, locked in each other.

Colin smiled, following their familiar movements with his eyes, eventually drifting off, the long and wonderful day taking his toll on him.

He woke again briefly at the feeling of long, naked legs sliding around his and a hard head bumping into his chest, together with a warm, scratchy blanket being draped over him, but he didn’t open his eyes again.





It was the brief, intense hiss of steam escaping as water hit fire, over and over again, that woke him. There was a cloud of steam surrounding the fire pit, making the night sky seem dull, greyish, and the figure of Greg, crouched next to the fire, poking it with a stick to make sure it was out, seemed like a scene from an other world. Greg was wearing his t-shirt, Colin noted, and jeans but bare feet, walking gingerly through the damp grass.

When Greg came back he didn’t huddle close under the blanket again but touched Colin’s face until he was awake, whispering something about it being too cold for Ryan’s back. Colin agreed, the ground felt rock hard and damp under him, only the warmth of another form so close to his keeping him warm. Ryan sighed contently when he woke him with a kiss and a murmur of “go to our bed”.

They gathered up their clothes, the blankets, the guitar and it’s casing, and walked through the garden, snippets of mist clinging to the ground.

Once back to their porch everything seemed different already, Greg picking the pieces of wet grass of his feet, Ryan stretching his back, Colin laying a soft hand on it and massaging it gently to a wince from Ryan. Their bed looked foreign, soft and inviting at once as they all stripped and scooted under the warm, soft blankets.

A little later, on the edge of sleep again, Colin moved in closer to Greg, wrapped an arm around his bare stomach and whispered in his ear “you have a good birthday?”

Ryan guided Greg’s head to lie against his shoulder, his hand reaching out to Greg’s stomach until it connected with Colin’s. He could feel Greg’s heartbeat in his fingers as Greg tightened his grip on them, momentarily, and mumbled “yeah.”



The End








mood: exhausted