Adult Contemporary Pairing - Colin/Ryan Rating - PG-13 (for language and angst) Summary - Ryan is drowning his sorrows. Does Colin make it better or worse? Disclaimer - I don't own Colin or Ryan. They belong to Whose Line. (lol) I make no profit from this work, and this is a work of fiction. Not based on anything real or substantial. The party is swell. Sure. Another Drew Carey shindig. The mansion is incredible, as usual. Whatever. We're all surrounded by beautiful women -- not our wives. Nice, but not great. I'm actually bored to the point of tears, asking the bartender for strange drink configurations just because being drunk enough to vomit might actually be something interesting, something worth getting myself into. As I try out some weird mixture of vodka and Sierra Mist and pineapple juice, I glance over at some of my colleagues and notice that I'm the only person here brooding. I can actually feel my eyebrows scrunching downward, corners of my lips tight and dry. I don't want to be here, but I'm obligated. The guy was decent enough to produce another show and invite me onboard. Personally, I was content to just sit around at home and slip into a numbing depression, but that's never any good. Pretty soon, I notice my kids walk over me like I don't exist or don't even bother to address me anymore because my only reply is, 'Uh huh.' or 'Sure. Whatever.' or 'Ask your mom.' I let my mind think about the good old days -- not childhood or anything but roughly fifteen years ago, when I still felt purposeful, alive, wanted. I felt so much younger then. I felt almost like a child. Whose Line was in full swing, winning awards, gaining notoriety, and I was in love. I can admit that now. Not with her but with him. Drew Carey comes up and clasps me on the back, laughing and elbowing me in the ribs. "Hey, what's up? Glad you came." I turn to him and take in the sight of him. Man, that guy never changes. Aside from his brief weight fluctuations, he always has the same pleasant face, no wrinkles, no blemishes. He's always friendly and humble. My throat constricts at the thought. I shake my head as tears come to my eyes, but I smile them away. "Shit, Drew! Who hired these strippers? They look like West Hollywood trannies." He throws back his head and has a laugh, and now I'm feeling euphoric. Holy crap, there's two of him. If I'm imagining two of Drew Carey, then how much money must that amount to? God. Close to billions, I'm sure. And in minutes, I'm alone again. If we had a conversation, then I can't remember it, but I know I feel empty and my heart is broken. It only gets this way when I'm near him. "You look like hell." Oh God. It's him. I'm not so drunk to forget that sound. His voice is so close I can almost feel it, but I pretend I'm okay because I am. "Thanks." I murmur and order another drink. A shot of Bacardi 151. The strongest thing behind the bar. I won't let myself look at him. Just hearing his voice is torturous enough. "So, how many is this?" He asks as I take out a cigarette, a double dose of toxins tonight. I might fall from this stool but not while he's here. My stubbornness won't let me fall. "Too many to count." I ache to look at him, but I can't. I'm too weak. "Are you the liquor police?" The other man chuckles, a strange watery sound to my drunken ear. "Nope. I'm just your friend." God, why does he say things like that? Finally, I turn and meet his eyes and sway a bit on my chair. He's beautiful. Something about the way he ages gives him an almost ethereal appearance. He looks vulnerable and yet completely sure of himself. His hair is completely white, but something in his face, in his eyes, hints at a certain lasting youthfulness. I'm attracted to that all over again and have to smile at him. "Hi." I hear myself murmur softly. "Hi." He repeats in a slightly softer tone and accompanied by a slow grin. Being drunk right now is not a good thing. I want to grab him, but I know he won't go for that. He never does. I couldn't even blame it on being drunk because he'd know its something I've always wanted -- never stopped wanting. "Col, if I vomit all over you…" I take a pause to force it down. "… if I vomit all over you, would you be mad at me?" He regards me and pretends to consider it, then shakes his head. "No. Besides, I'm already mad at you, you big lug. " He hands me a tin of pretzels and makes a face. "Eat these. They'll help." Watching him walk away, I'm vaguely aware that he doesn't want to hang around because I've stopped being coherent about an hour ago. I don't even realize I'm smiling in his direction until it's too late. People are starting to stare at me. I have a laugh at my own stupidity, but something about pining for him feels so good. Why do people always want what they can't have? Colin. God, I want you. There's some kind of music pumping through the stereo system, and I suddenly find myself recognizing the voice as Michael Bolton. This angers me, and I turn to the bartender, grimace planted firmly in place. "What the hell is this we're listening to?" He shrugs and pops a cocktail cherry into his gullet. "I dunno. Adult contemporary?" I hold his gaze for several seconds until I get dizzy and slide off my stool, sauntering somewhere in the vicinity of where Colin stands chatting with Greg Proops and Wayne Brady and some woman I don't recognize. He turns towards me and I let one hand rest on his shoulder. "Can I speak to you one moment?" I can hear the slur of my voice. He doesn't answer for several seconds, instead continuing his conversation with the others, and I am still waiting, hanging off of him like a leech, like the old days, sapping his vibrance. "Col…" I say loud, gaining myself a few stares. He turns to me, patting my shoulder good-naturedly. "Sure, Ryan. Just a sec." "So, how's it going, Ryan?" Greg says, shoving hands into his jean pockets and cocking his head at me. His hair seems to move independently of his head, full and lush as it was in his youth. I force a smile. "Oh. Great. Yourself?" He snorts a laugh. "Better now. What do you think of the project?" Wayne laughs sarcastically, raising eyebrows. "He has other things on his mind right now, I'm sure." "What the fuck does that mean?" I hear myself counter angrily. "Nothing." Colin answers for him, tugging me away gently. "He means nothing." "He's a real sonofabitch." I murmur as we stagger away, him under the weight of my leaning and me out of drunkenness. "You need some air." He replies as we exit through the back of the house. Once outside, I feel my stomach lurching but hold it in, out of anger. When I can speak again, I am livid. "I hate sanctimonious assholes like him! I mean, where does he get off judging me?" Colin shrugs, studying my face in the minimal light of the Tiki torches. "When did you become such an angry drunk?" I'm shaking my head. "Some Hollywood shit-heads think so highly of themselves because they get these little talk shows on these stupid networks…" "I miss you too, Ryan." His voice is quiet, as quiet as a breeze. My face feels suddenly taut. "I wasn't talking about that." I sound like a wimp, whining like this. "I was talking about Wayne Brady." "I'm sorry I haven't kept in better touch." "You been traveling a lot. With Brad." He nods. "Yeah. Lots of traveling. Lots of shows." "I would have liked to hear from you." He sighs and comes closer, hands shoved in his slacks pockets. "I thought the distance would do us some good." Now, I am mesmerized by him. He looks so good, so sober, so edible in black leather jacket and brown slacks, expensive shoes and a white silk shirt. His hair is lightly blowing in the wind and it looks a little fuller. Maybe. Or maybe I just can find nothing wrong about him. "I love you so much, Colin." My head lolls on its shoulders, and I'm too drunk to feel bad about being so honest. He exhales, slowly, unwilling to speak. Instead, he glances down at his shoes. Its always been like this. Me wanting him. Him humoring me. Me needing him. Him tolerating me. "How's the family?" He asks. I hate when he switches gears on me. "Oh. They're great." Sarcasm seems to be the theme of the night. "Wonderful, even. How about yours?" He smiles. "The same. Healthy, happy, adorable." "How nice. Sounds like fucking Nirvana." I'm grumpy, and he knows now. He makes a face. "What's going on with you?" I kick a pebble down the walkway and murmur. "I don't know what you mean." "You're acting like an incredible asshole. You were never this bad." "Deprivation does things to you over time." There's a pause while he takes it in, and I take a moment to mentally kick myself for being so brutally honest. I hate when I get like this. For two comedians who have chemistry like yin and yang, currently, we're the most unfunny of sights. Me swaying and sobering slowly, willing away a headache and him gazing off into the distance, probably pissed at me and maybe even a little wounded. "I don't want to deal with your deprivation." He finally says, quietly. "I'd rather talk about anything else in the world. Rising gas prices, the Iraqi conflict…Hemorrhoids…" "Why not, Colin? Why can't we ever address this?" I'm sounding more and more like myself with every passing moment. I can see it in his eyes. "Because. There's no point." "There is a point." I plead. "I love you and you love me…" "I never said that." He replies, defensively. "Now whose being the asshole?" "I never said that." He repeats, and I start to walk away from him, exasperated and hurt, but he calls to me. "Ryan!" "No. Forget it, Colin." I'm stalking down the walkway. "You never said it, so forget it." He sighs and catches up with me, grabbing my arm to make me face him. We're bathed in almost complete darkness now, and I feel a desperate ache in my chest. The Tiki lights are behind us now, and we're standing inside an open gazebo, surrounded by Willow trees and shrubbery and chirping crickets and I feel like I'm in the Sound of music. Colin has such a firm grip on me. "I never said it, but I felt it." He mumbles. "You know how I feel. I know how I feel. Now its time to move on from that. Ryan, we have families." I'm shaking my head, in denial. "Colin…" "We have children. Isn't it enough that we still work together?" "It's so hard…" My voice is a ragged squeak, a slur of tones. My throat is constricted. "I know it is." His hand is on my cheek and I press into his touch, loving the burn of it, the concentrated passion of it. "I know. I deal with it everyday." "Can't we just…" He's shaking his head. "No, Ryan. It can't ever happen." A tear falls from my eye and his thumb catches it and wipes it away. There's so much more I want to say, but my thoughts are like misfired impulses, not connecting, too many things at once. I don't ever want to be apart from him. When he speaks again, his voice is low, conspiratorial. "We work together and deal with this -- like always. We'll be friends, Ryan, but I don't want to do this again. It's too much. Don't do this again. Do you promise me?" I don't respond because I can't make a promise like this, and his face comes close. Maybe he feels sorry for me or maybe he thinks I need this, but he brings his lips to mine and kisses me gently, letting me taste the sweet flavor of Pepto Bismol on his mouth. Instinctively, I start to wrap my arms around him, but he's pushing me away as soon as I do. His brown eyes look black in the night, and I am gasping at the loss of contact. He lets his gaze linger on me for a moment longer, and then he's backing away from me. "Friends." He says, softly, and I nod unsteadily. That was the first time he has ever kissed me outside of Whose Line, and my head is swimming. How can I go back home feeling this way? How does he ever expect me to just move past this or ignore this fire he's just started inside me? Stalking after him, silently, I make up my mind that I won't. I'm following after him, stalking him actually. This isn't really my style but when it comes to Colin, I can't help myself. I'm so close - almost close enough to feel him, and when he gets to his car, he turns to face me. "What are you doing?" His eyes look black in the moonlight. I shrug. "I wanted to talk to you." He's unlocking his car door. "We already talked, Ryan." I hate when he sounds this serious. I hate that he's being all forboding and coarse. This isn't like him, but I've driven him to this. "Don't leave." I manage, glancing up at the sky, noticing that the moon is halved. I need him so badly. "I can't stay." He says, opening the door. "You can." I moan. "No!" He shouts, slamming his door, and I take a step back, instinctively. "You don't know how hard you make this, Ryan." His voice has softened. "I don't know what else to do about this. Do you know how many inquiries I get about you? People are asking me whats wrong with you, why you're acting like this -- not just Wayne -- everybody, and you know what I want to tell them?" I'm staring at him, waiting. "I want to tell them, Ryan, that I'm not you're fucking husband. I don't know what the hell is your problem. I'm not your goddamned keeper." My eyes feel heavy with water, making me angry. He goes to get in his car and I grab his arm, tugging him forward. "Why are you acting so hard with me? So I'm fucking drunk! Big deal!" "That's not the only thing." He counters in a quiet voice. "Then what?" I reply, still holding his forearm, afraid I might have hurt him but more afraid of him bolting. "Tell me, Col." He makes a noise and turns his face away from me. I release him and watch him bury his face in his arm. I have the vague suspicion he might be crying and this anguishes me. I need to leave him alone, but i can't. It'd be like asking me to stop breathing. I can't stop needing him. "I'm sorry." I whisper when he doesn't turn to me. "Colin, please..." When he faces me again, his cheeks are wet and he wears a resigned expression. "Get in." His voice is soft and deep, a breath. I comply silently, going around to the passenger's side as he gets in. As he drives down the road, I wonder where we might be headed, and then I realize. We pull to his condo (the one he uses only when staying in Los Angeles, which is not often) and get out, simultaneously closing the doors. He gets to his front gate and unlocks it, opening the door and leading me inside, then inside the apartment. It's nice and roomy, cool and dark, the same as I remember, and I feel chill bumps raise on my arms. He still hasn't said anything so i stand in the living room while he goes to another room, waiting like an idiot, with my hands at my sides, a brain dead drunk, ignorant and woozy. Finally, I can't take the silence and I call out to him. "Colin?" He answers promply. "Yeah. I'm making you coffee, so you'll be more coherent." I sigh and nod even though he isn't in the same room with me. Moments later, he returns with coffee, and he looks a bit better, a pleasant expression on his face. "Sit..." He hands me a mug. "...and drink." I obey, wordlessly as he perches next to me with his own mug. The lighting here is soft and dim, and the only noise in the room (aside from my clumpsy slurping) is the central air system. when I turn to him, he smirks and puts down his mug. "I'm only going to say this once, Ryan, so just listen." I nod, so he continues. "Ever since I first met you, I loved you. I thought you were a beautiful creature with that blond mop on your head, that big nose, those emerald eyes." Colin chuckles as I self-consciously run an index finger along the bridge of my nose. "You were a big goof, a big adorable goof, but I knew it could never be -- not for two guys like us." I meet his gaze. "Why not? You hadn't even met her yet." Colin shakes his head. "You never would have gone for me then, anyway." "How do you know that?" I'm indignant. "You never even approached me with it." "And I wouldn't have." He says seriously. "Ever. I wanted a normal life. I was already going bald back then. I was older, not the most attractive guy in the business..." "Stop making excuses!" I groan deeply. "You're too critical. You're an attractive man and one of the funniest guys in the business. Anything else is bullshit!" Colin leans back into the couch cushions, making a face. "You're obligated to say that. You're my friend." "I'm not obligated to do anything." I grumble. "Anyway..." he cotinues. "...when i met her and got married, I pushed those thoughts away. Sometimes, you just get so close to someone, the lines get blurred...sometimes, I wanted to give you a handshake; sometimes i wanted to kiss you. Sometimes, I did." I let my eyes drift shut. "Fooling around on the set of Whose Line." He nods. "Yes. Those S G I's." "Spontaneous groping incidents." I remember fondly. "I did it more than you." He chews his lip. "Yeah, but I welcomed it everytime -- even when I looked like I didn't." I'm gazing at him now, wanting to hold him. "I still can't believe how much of that made it into the show." He'd nodding. "Yeah -- and a lot of times, I would walk off the set after a taping so horny, I'd have to take care of myself in the trailer before actually leaving the studio lot." My eyes feel predatory as I turn to him. "You could have called me." Colin blushes and looks down into his mug. "Helping hands." His dark eyes meet mine again. "Do you remember that?" Clearing my throat, I half-smile. "How could i forget that game? It was only the bane of my existence for ---what? --years? You were so naughty at that game." Colin blushes deeper and stares back into his coffee mug, and I feel myself leaning closer to him. "We were closer then." He murmurs as I let my nose brush his neck. "Dangerously close." "Like now?" I whisper letting my lips brush the same spot before he pulls away, slightly. "Don't." He murmurs. "I told you..." "Yeah...you told me we can't, Colin, but why are you the dictator of this relationship? Why do you call the shots, here? Are you so sure you don't want this?" He nods, slowly. "Yes. I'm very sure I don't want this." I snort angrily. "Why? What makes you so sure?" "Because I love her." I try to keep the fire out of my eyes as I regard him. "You love her?" He nods, swallowing as I watch his adam's apple bob slowly. I'm making him nervous. He doesn't know what I'll do. "Yes." He whispers. "I love her, and I can't. Not now. Now with you." My heart aches at his words as I watch him stand and put distance between us. My mouth is dry, and my stomach starts to churn. I don't really know what to do so I just stand up and shrug. "Okay then." I mumble quietly, defeated. "Then I'll leave." He exhales and comes to meet me at the door. "Don't leave like this." He says, not looking at me, instead looking at his feet. "We can still maintain a friendship -- we've done it for two decades." I make a face as I swing the door open and stand in the threshold. "It's different now, Colin. Back then, friendship was enough..." I pause, searching his face, letting it (ironically) bring me strengh. "...now, it isn't. Goodbye." I don't look back as i dash out the door and head down the street, feeling heartbroken but somehow fueled by it. In my head, I've alreay severed ties with my entire Whose Line family. I won't return to the set of Green Screen because I can't bear to see him. If I can't have him the way I want, then I won't deal with again. Period... Monday afternoon I'm creeping onto the Warner Brother's lot like a crazed paparazzi with really low expectations. I'm here only long enough to gather a few of my belongings from my trailer and sneak quietly away, unnoticed. Does it bother me that I'll piss off Drew Carey, a close and loyal friend of mine? Yeah. A little. Does it worry me that he might eventually stop being such a loyal close friend and sue my ass off because despite our friendship, I have actually signed a contract and my ass is actually obligated to fulfill a duty to him. Um. Yes. More than anything right now, but I simply can't face him. Can't deal with it now. The inside of my trailer is modern and minimalist -- but somehow dusty and cluttered with the few things inside it. Four pairs of shoes, a pair of sweatpants, McDonald wrappers, CD's, a book, a script, a half empty water bottle and my MP3 player because I can't go anyplace without my music. Especially when I'm going through a horrible Colin phase. Stumbling over my stuff, I curse to myself. Damn, I have big shoes. The walk through the studio lot and to the street isn't bad until I nearly collide with the woman connected with the pair of blue/green eyes I always have trouble meeting. "Ryan?" she always sounds so cheerful. She's always smiling. "Hey Deb." I murmur, trying to ignore her inquisitive gaze. "Why aren't you inside? Aren't they taping?" I shrug. "I dunno." She takes a pause, concern etched on her face. "Are you okay?" She finally asks, and I feel my heart breaking. This is a woman who respects me -- who may genuinely like me, even. She laughs at my jokes, she invites me over for coffee and dinner, she takes care of Colin, of Colin's family. I'm merely the selfish asshole who wants to fling all of that into the rubbish bin and steal Colin into the night, cackling like a mad serial thief. "I'm fine. Why do you ask?" This is the reason why I never became a serious actor. I can't act, especially against the turmoil of what's going on inside me. I can't pretend I'm okay, watching her worried face, the wind blowing her reddish bangs across her furrowed brow. I could take her into my arms and tell her everything but what would it accomplish? She'd probably scream at me, ban me from her home, from her life. Would it surprise her to learn that I can't live without her husband? That I'm not able to function because he won't give himself to me. "Listen," she reaches for me and lets her tiny pale hand rest against my arm, reassuringly, "I have to meet someone now, but why don't you come by the apartment later? I'll make a dinner, and you and me and Colin can catch up. It'll be like old times. God, I nearly didn't even recognize you." Her hand dances along my arm. "You tan so well. It looks like you've been bronzed." Her smile is so warm, I'm shuddering inwardly. Hell no, I can't come to dinner. I'd drown. I'd die. "What time should I come?" I hear myself asking, like a mindless automaton, knowing I'm going to stand her up because I can't be in the same room with them. This isn't like the old days. I can still feel his lips against mine, the phantom traces of his kiss. Later, I'm pacing around my house, back and forth, gaining stares from the woman who should be the barrier that keeps me from wanting, from straying. Instead, she only fuels my hunger for him, making me long for him more. She lets me know that I need him. She puts everything into perspective, how false it all is. The children, the wedding bands, the marriage. When her stare gets too intense, I force a smile. "What?" She shrugs. "I dunno. You look like something's on your mind." I turn away from my wife and tinker with a nearby shelf item. A can opener. For the first time in years, I'm thinking of suicide. "I'm just thinking about stuff. Nothing. Everything." I shrug again and open a can of corn. Just because. "Ryan, you're scaring me. You've had the same dazed look on your face for weeks, and…" she pauses. "…I wish you'd open up to me." I chuckle, a distant sound. "I'm going to Colin's later." I don't know why I say this, but she seems to turn it over in her head, more than she should. I take a glance at her, consider her expression and get panicky. "What?" She shrugs. "Oh. Nothing." "Tell me." I demand. "What are you thinking?" She smirks crookedly. "I'm glad you and Colin are on good terms again." Okay. Why'd she say that? "What do you mean?" She makes a face. "He called you about a thousand times, apologizing. And Drew called a few times, very concerned -- and a little pissed. Some of the others called also, making sure you were okay. You didn't show up for the taping?" I ignore her question and focus on the part about Colin. What'd he apologize for? He did nothing wrong. I have to talk to him. But I can't. And I'm not going to his apartment tonight -- for dinner or anything else. I can't see him and I don't want to see him with his wife, watch them bantering playfully back and forth, him kissing her neck the way he does, him sitting close and draping a protective arm around her shoulders. The thought of it makes medizzy with grief. Instead of going to his apartment, I'll go to the bar. At least I'll be away from the charade I call my life. The nearest pub is filled with older California yuppie types who take sips from bottles of Bud and play pool. I sit at the bar and consider what to order when I decide on the strongest thing they have. "Yeah…" I mumble to the bartender, a somber older guy. "…umm. I'll have a…" "He'll have an iced tea." A voice from behind me interrupts, and I turn to face him. Colin is wearing an amused expression as we gain a couple of stares from around the place. "Colin…" I gasp as he perches gingerly next to me. He nods. " Do you have any idea how many autographs I had to sign to get in here? I didn't even realize that many people knew me." I'm still taking in the beautiful sight of him, white hair slightly wind-mussed, dark eyes intense beneath the layer of light- heartedness, lips curved up a bit at the edges. "Colin." I repeat more for my benefit than his. It feels like a Hollywood ending, him showing up here. I'm still reeling when the bartender sets the iced tea in front of me as Colin drops a five dollar bill on the bar. "Why'd you skip the taping?" I don't answer right away. Instead, I shrug and move to take out a cigarette. "Um. Sorry I stood Deb up. She kind of almost forced me to dinner." "She likes you." He says in a deep tone that makes me meet his gaze. "Does she know that I like you?" I ask, trying my best to be an asshole while not being an asshole. Colin lets it roll off his back. "I dunno, although I suspect she'll know after tonight." His words baffle me, but I don't reply to them, instead taking a drink of my tea and regarding him. "Was Drew screaming profanities about me?" Colin nods. "Yes. You interrupted an entire day of production. In Hollywood, that's boatloads of money." He stops, sighs and shrugs. "Although, for the budget we're working with, well…it's only maybe a cupful -- but still…" He makes me smile. He amuses me, and I remember how much I need him. "Run away with me, Colin." I whisper. He doesn't answer so I continue. "Run away with me, and we can work in a third world marketplace, selling casaba melons to the natives by day and drinking Coronas by night, narrowly escaping blue shelled crabs and getting drunk and laughing and making…" I pause, letting my head drop to my chest, already weary with this argument, with this dream. "…making love by moonlight, letting the surf wash over us in perfect, warm waves." He clears his throat and stands, as if he hasn't heard me, zipping his jacket and preparing to leave when his eyes meet mine. "Come on." He says, and my heart leaps into my throat as I get off my stool and follow him. Outside, it's colder than I was expecting and I shove my hands in my jeans pockets and hunch my shoulders to kind of shield myself from the elements. Colin is walking alongside me, silently, and I wish he'd talk, say something -- anything. "I've dreamt of it, y'know." He finally murmurs, surprising me by lighting a cigarette. He quit smoking two years ago. Or so I thought. "Dreamt of it?" He nods, taking a long cleansing drag. "Yes. Making love. With you." My stomach clenches with longing. He's dreamt of it. So have I. So many times. "Colin…this is why I can't be near you…it's taking everything in my power not to…" My hands ache to grab him, but I resist, clutching the insides of my pockets. He's smaller than I am, and I want to hold him protectively against my chest, encircle him in my arms. I stop and gape at him, suddenly angry. "Why the hell did you come here, Colin?!" I demand. "Why did you come looking for me?" He turns to face me. "Because." His reply sounds weak, but I'm listening. "Because I didn't want you to do anything stupid." I snort. "Like what? Like get drunk?" He exhales, slowly. "No. I just kept envisioning that stupid routine you always did during Whose Line -- that blasted hanging man gag that I hated and you kept doing it. I don't know if there's a connection or not, but…" "Don't flatter yourself, Mochrie! I'm not quite to that point yet." Although it hurts that he thought I might kill myself. In truth, I'm not sure he isn't on to something. "Listen to me." He closes the gap between us as we continue walking past storefronts. "I love you. It takes a lot for me to admit that given my current position." "Which is?" I ask impassively. "I'm not prepared to divorce her." "Then don't. I don't really give a shit -- and stop following me around town!" I snap. "Ryan…" "Shut up, Colin. I hate this. I hate you." "You don't mean that." He says quietly. "Whatever." I mumble as I keep walking until I feel his hand grasp my arm and push me against the brick wall with a sudden force I wasn't expecting, nor prepared for. Our faces are suddenly close, and his breath is suddenly my own. "Don't act that way." He whispers, and I'm shaking my head, ready to protest when he speaks again. "Do whatever you want. Just…don't do that. Don't turn me away." "It isn't enough to just do what I want." I whisper back, marveling in the feel of his fists clenching my shirt, his foot planted between the both of mine, his body so close but not yet restraining. Not yet. "Just stop being a jerk. Even though that's one of your traits that thrills me the most." "Colin…" I'm suddenly the apprehensive one, even though his breath is so warm and so close, his mouth so near to mine. I can feel his pulse -- even at this distance. I don't know who initiates it, but our lips meet. My tongue is instantly inside his mouth and I'm wrestling myself out of his grasp, initiating my arms around him, sucking his tongue, making him moan. When I pull back, it's to turn us around and back him against the wall, taking the upper hand. He is startled and maybe disoriented but welcoming when I press my mouth back to his. This time, the sigh I hear is my own. He feels so good, so warm and perfect. I hear footsteps and disengage myself from him immediately. When the passersby stroll past us, we might look like two disheveled actors coming from a nearby pub, friendly but otherwise platonic -- or we might resemble two adolescent middle aged men, embarrassed about making out in public but desperate for more. Without giving it another thought, I tug on the sleeve of his jacket and pull him into the narrow alley, shadowed dark by the other building and press him into the brick wall again, kissing his mouth, bruising it, licking his tongue and letting my hands caress his chest, get familiar with all I can in a short amount of time. Bringing my mouth downward, I kiss his neck as his hands bury themselves in my hair. "Ryan…what are…what are we…doing? Stop it…we c-can't…Ryan…God, that feels so good…" His whispers are fueling me as I reach down to free his shirt from his pants and let my hands dance along the naked skin of his torso, loving the feel of his silky chest hair. "God, Colin…I need this. We need this…" My mouth is on his neck, chin, clavicle, Adam's apple. His breathing is ragged. "Ryan…" "Oh Colin…Oh God, Colin…" My hands are against his skin, fluttering softly but urgently. I want to take him so badly. I want to own him, to make him need me as badly as I need him. My fingertips brush his nipple and he shudders. "Ryan…mm…" He presses his pelvis to mine, and I feel my knees falter. His fingers dig into my scalp, driving me mad, bringing chills up my spine. My eyes water as I feel his arousal grind with mine. "Want you…"I growl, teeth against his neck. "…need you, Colin…" His hands come down to encircle my waist, then slide down to cup my ass and pull me closer to him, rubbing his erection against my thigh. My eyes slide shut, and I pause, trying to regain some semblance of rational thought. He speaks first, and I open my eyes. "Will we regret this? Please. Tell me we won't." His voice is rough, deep, passionate. My eyes start to water as I stare at him in the darkness, afraid of being hurt, afraid of being caught, afraid of losing him, afraid, afraid afraid. But still, desperate, selfish. "I don't know." I whisper, brushing a hand along his brow, loving the baby soft texture of his skin. We stay that way for a long moment, mindful of being in a semi- public spot but also concerned about the raging hormones churning within us. I want nothing more than to strip him naked and make love to him for days, but I know it isn't possible. Not here. Not with the prospect of being seen and then having the truth come out. It would wreck both of our families -- and possibly our lives, so my mind begins to consider other possibilities. "We could get a room." "Could we?" I nod, unsteadily. "Yeah. We could." He seems to consider it for a moment, battling with some inner demons before meeting my eyes again and nodding, slowly. "Alright. Lets do it." In moments, we're dashing off into the night, headed towards an uncertain destiny, but one which we're both prepared to face. Together…. The room is cheap, small, efficient. It doesn't matter. We're already kissing before we hit the threshold, tumbling towards the bed together on a whirlwind of passion. Without words, I'm tugging the jacket and shirt off of him, snatching away at the fabric like a madman, and Colin is either too startled or too caught up to respond. He stands unsteadily beside the bed while I wrap my arms around him and drag my blunt nails along his pale skin. If he objects to being marked, he doesn't let on. When our eyes meet again, his look deep and dark, almost unnerving because i don't know what he's thinking. His face is so serious, brows drawn as if in concentration. I pause and let a hand trace his cheek, then slide behind his head and bring his lips to mine, crashing us together. He moans and embraces me. "Ryan, I'm...it's been a while..." I simply nod and remove my own shirt, mindful of the talks we've had in the past about this very subject. I'd opened up to him about my attraction towards men, and he'd nodded and shrugged, completely unphased. Even going so far as to tell me about his. And so I'd opened up further and told him of my lonely nights spent cruising for young men outside of bathhouses and bars, fearful of being found out but more fearful of denying myself the simple, forbidden pleasure of being myself. Colin had seemed saddened somehow, but also completely understanding. It was as if we'd shared the same experience, but he'd never divulged much to me on the subject. Instead, leaving me to assume he got his kicks elsewhere. I'd wanted him even then, but I'd been too afraid to tell him, afraid of ruining our friendship. The result ended up being sexual angst and barely masked attraction on the set of Whose Line, but I could always just write that off as acting -- and usually did. As for Colin, he never came on nearly as strong, but it doesn't matter now. His hands are slowly unbubkling my belt, and I nearly come just from the look on his face, that soft, flirty, intense look that drives me insane. He's working slowly, sliding the belt through the loops, licking his lips, meeting my eyes, sliding my belt, smiling gently, blinking once, twice...I'm on the edge and he can see that, dragging it out, making me moan from raw want. "Colin..." I whimper when he finally unbuttons my jeans. "...God, you're killing me." "I want to make this last." He mumbles, letting his fingers come just inside the waist of my boxer briefs before removing them again. "Since this moment marks a turning point with us." My hand goes to his head, cradling it, letting my fingers slide through the silky white hair. He turns his head and plants a gentle kiss on my wrist, making me shudder. The act is so feather light, i nearly don't feel it. It's funny how gentle this is, how soft and sentimental. Such a contrast to the raging erection in my shorts, pulsing and leaking and aching to be released, aching to be sheathed inside him. The thought makes me close my eyes, and I hear him chuckle. "Are you okay?" I nod and pull him down onto the bed with me, on top of me. He's self-concious of his weight on me, but I don't mind that. It's exquisite, and Colin has lost so much weight over the years, he's so thin and light. I reach up to kiss him and hold his arms above our heads, cradling his body between my legs. I can feel the evidence of his arousal pressed against my thigh, and it makes me gasp and long for more. I'm still wearing my shirt, but soon Colin is straddling me and pulling it off and over my head. He's moving like a little worker bee, intense and focused as his fingers map out my chest with light caresses. I'm smiling at him as he does this while trying to work on his own slacks. "You have beautiful skin." he whispers, dancing fingers over my torso, belly, then back up to my nipples, lingering near but not touching. "How can you tell in the dark?" I inquire, weakly as he teases one nipple, lightly. He snorts. "I've seen you without your shirt before, you big goof." He says pointedly, and I laugh through my passion. I'd forgotten. This feels like the first time -- even for simple stuff. Like when our lips touch, my mind forgets that we'd done it so many times before. It just never meant so much. When his fingers slide beneath my shorts and tickle the trail of blond hair leading to the prize, I gasp and wait, unsure what to expect. Inwardly, I'm hoping like hell that I don't come just from this. I want it to last. "Tell me what to do." He says, pointedly, letting his fingers drag along my tummy, right below my navel. I shiver and smile up at him. "Do whatever you want." "Are you sure about that?" I nod. "Yes. Anything." "Anything?" His eyes look mischievious, and I groan. "Yes, Colin. Do whatever you want." "Alright." He says before bending forward over me and latching onto one of my nipples. "Colin..." It sounds like a whimper and takes all of my reserve not to flip him over and start fucking him right then. Instead, I wait and endure the torture of his tongue lightly circling my nipple, first the right, then the left. I'm so hard, it hurts. "Are you alright?" He asks, replacing his tongue with fingertips. I can only nod. In moments, we're beneath the sheets and naked, enjoying the warmth of each other's skin pressed close. I am over Colin, between his spread legs, grinding against him and kissing his mouth, loving the soft sounds he makes, loving his hands in my hair, his fast steady heartbeat, his shallow breathing and the way he sounds when he occasionally moans my name in that deep voice -- accent hardly intelligible because everything he says now is a soft desperate murmur. His hands travel down my back and rest against my ass as I create a gentle friction, and then I am raising my hips a bit when he reaches between us to run his nimble fingers along the length of my cock. "Colin..." I hiss against his shoulder, instinctively starting to thrust against his hand because it feels so good to have him touch me there and he's being maddeningly gentle. "...touch me, Colin. Do it. Harder..." Soon, he starts to stroke me, up and down on my cock until my eyes start to cross, and I have to steady his hand. "Have you had enough?" He asks, playfully as I let the tension thin out a bit, bring myself back from the edge. "Whoo boy..." I murmur, sliding down his body, planting open-mouthed kisses against his chest, dragging my nails through the dark baby fine hair in the center of his torso and across his chest. When I get to his belly, I drop soft kisses on his pale skin, letting my fingers follow everyplace I kiss until I reach his upstanding cock and draw it into my mouth without preamble. His reaction is to gasp and slide his fingers through my hair, unbelievably gentle even while I start to suckle him without abandon, showering him with all the sexual affection I'd been saving up for years. He's biting his lip and making soft sounds in the back of his throat, fueling me to take him as high as I possibly can, and i do. "Ryan..." he whimpers, softly. "...God, yes...Like that...can't believe...mmm...so good..." He's lying perfectly still as I swallow him time and time again before the salty sweet flavor of his essence starts to trickle down my throat and I am driving him towards his sweet release, desperate to have him shuddering beneath me. Taking him in my hand, I concentrate on the swollen purple head, sucking it gently while stroking him, and his hands fall away, an arm draped over his eyes, and he is coming, lips parted, chest heaving. He looks so beautiful that way, the way I'd always imagined him, so pale and weak and perfect. In this instant, he belongs to me. When I slide back up his chest, he takes my face in both hands and brings our mouths together, sucking my tongue and tasting himself there. My own arousal is pressed firmly against him, but I love this intimacy, this closeness. He feels so warm and he looks like an angel beneath me, holding onto me. "I love you, Colin." I whisper, vision blurred from watery eyes. "How could I ever forget that?" He whispers in a breathy voice, letting his hand travel up and down my flank. "I love you too. Always have. You know that." His hands are between us even before the words leave his lips, and he is stroking me, using our sweat and saliva and errant amounts of release as lubricant until my own precome is pearling at the tip of my cock, and to my surprise, he is guiding me to him, draping his leg over me to give me better leverage. I meet his eyes, and he half-smiles as I slide slowly inside him and we're moving together, eyes linked as I begin a gentle rocking motion. There's a fine line between where I end and he begins, and the power of this knowledge takes me to the edge almost immediately, his hand is on my cheek, tracing my jawline. Watching him wince as I sink inside him makes me pause and meet his gaze. "Are you alright?" I inquire, preparing myself to stop. He chuckles breathlessly, then nods. "It feels ...too good." I smile and let my head rest on his shoulder as I drive deep inside him. " I always knew it would." He clings to me as I angle my hips to a new trajectory and find the spot inside him that makes him part his lips in silent cry, shuddering, and then I'm gone, spilling myself inside him. We're trembling together, and I want to cry it feels so good and so real and so true. Him wrapped around me, me inside him. I kiss his mouth and we're crying together but not stopping, tumbling together until he's on top again and kissing me, pushing his fingers through my hair. Our teeth, tongues, lips, crashing together, tears mingling with saliva -- God, I can still taste him. Why did he ever deny us this? As if he can read my thoughts, he pulls back and we're inches apart, breathing raggedly, hair mussed, eyes red and tear-stained. His dark eyes are so intense, so inquisitive. With just a blink, he has asked me a million questions. What now? Where do we go from here? What about Deb? What about Pat? What about the kids? What about work? What about us? "I don't know." I answer, quietly, desperately, keeping my arms around him in case he might bolt from the bed, from my life, holding him captive in case he decides it was a mistake, an error in judgement. I can feel the fear threatening to overtake me because i know Colin, and of the two of us, he's the most rational, the most logical, and I know he has concerns. I am nearly shaking with fear when he does something that changes both of our lives, forever, and puts most of my concerns, (for the time being, anyway) ot of my head. He lets himself relax in my embrace, his head in the crook of my neck, arm around my middle. Oh God, if only for an instant, I am in heaven... How can I explain this newfound joy? How do I put into words the jubilation and freedom I feel? How do you even begin to annotate the white hot magic inside that fills you up so much you want to drop to your knees and give thanks to God? Simple answer. You don't. Pat is staring at me sideways, and I can't wipe the silly grin from my face. My kids have been coming up to me off and on with strange requests for large sums of money and I write checks and hand over my credit cards as if they mean nothing to me – and they don't. In the grand scheme of things, they are like dust on the wind. All that matters now is Colin. "Where'd you go last night?" "Huh?" "I said where'd you go? Last night?" "Um…over to Hamburger Hamlet." She crosses her arms. "That's pretty far. For a burger." Inside I'm laughing. I'd like to tell her the truth. `Last night, I made love with my best friend and nothing in the world will ever compare to that', but instead, I sigh and lean over and kiss her cheek. I can totally do this. I know I can. Fluid thoughts. I must think of Bruce Lee…be like water… Later, I'm in my SUV, Mac and Sam are in the backseat and I'm on the way to drop them off at a park where they will be meeting friends. They are engrossed in conversation and I can't stop drumming my fingers, can't stop humming and tapping my feet. I feel so excited everytime I think of Colin, but it isn't like pure lust – it's way more intense than that. This is the strongest sort of love I have ever felt. I mean, there should be a warning label on this stuff. My chest feels so full with it, and my body is tingling. I need to see him again. Soon. "Dad?" I turn a corner, bobbing my head a bit to some old Ray Charles song, oblivious. "DAAAD?" I glance up into the rearview mirror, slipping out of my stupor, meeting a pair of round bluish eyes. "Huh?" "What's up with you?" Mac inquires, mildly perturbed. "Yeah," Sam remarks. "What's up with you? You've been like…a vegetable…" He pauses, stares into my eyes. "Are you on exctasy?" I nearly drive off the road at the inquiry and also, try and prevent the involuntary laughter. "What?" My daughter half smiles, and I am shifting my eyes between the road and her. "I know that look." She says mysteriously. "I've seen it before." My cheeks redden, and I don't bother replying. I don't even want to go there. Whatever she thinks she knows, she can keep thinking it. I'm not volunteering anything. Incidentally, when we arrive at the park the place is basically vacant. "So, where are your friends?" I ask, mildly perturbed. The kids shrug, oddly in sync. "I dunno. They said they'd be here." I'm glancing around at the empty park, then glancing up at the darkening sky. Shit. It's getting late. I was hoping for a few moments of free time. The kids are looking up at me, expectantly. "Can we grab some food, dad?" "Yeah, dad. I'm starving." Just as I'm about to reply, my cell phone vibrates in my pocket. I turn my back so the kids don't see me fumbling wildly, desperate for that caller to be Colin, desperately excited to hear from him. "Yeah, hello?" "Ryan?" Am I surprised to hear Deb McGrath's voice on my phone? Yeah. A little. Also, a little paranoid. Does she know? Did she find out? Did he tell her? "Uh…Hi, Deb. What's up?" Me, acting casual. There is a brief pause on the line, then her voice, sounding uneven and quiet. "I need you to come over. Now. It's Colin." My heart beats a wild cadence in my chest. "What is it?" I ask in a dangerously low voice. "What happened? Is he okay?" "Um…" In the half second it takes for her to answer, my stomach begins to clench; I fight the urge to vomit. "…I think so. Just, can you come? Now?" Without replying, I slap my phone closed and dash to my car, screaming at my kids to get in. "What is it, dad?" Mac, moving to hop into the passenger's seat. "Nothing, just buckle your seat belt!" No need to worry them needlessly. Afterall, Colin is their God Dad. Mackenzie would start in with the waterworks and my son would simply brood as his stomach clenches in tight little knots – like how mine is. The drive is a silent, tense, perilous journey to where Colin's apartment is, and I am startled to see an ambulance parked in front of the gate. I've barely put the car in park before I'm out of there and dashing around to his door, barging inside. Pushing past Deb, I find Colin lying on a stretcher, surrounded by paramedics with his shirt opened and heart monitors taped to his chest. Otherwise, the look on his face is good-natured and mildly perturbed. I stumble towards him, as if in slow motion and he's shaking his head, a grin on his lips. "I can't believe you called him." Colin is calling to his wife who is standing in the threshold looking ashen. "It's nothing, Ryan, really." He says, brown eyes dancing in the light. "I have a heart murmur. Deb already knew that, but she said she felt a strange rhythm and here we are. I'm fine. None of this is necessary." I'm just staring at him, unsure how to respond. I know how I'd like to respond. I'd like to bend down and cradle him in my arms, kiss his bald head, snatch those monitors off of him. Instead, though, I simply stand there, staring down at him in a mild state of shock, hoping like hell I can keep the tears at bay. When I have the strength, I speak – not to him – to the paramedic in charge. "What's the prognosis?" The guy shrugs. "Apparently, he's right. He has a diastolic murmur, arrhythmic beats. If you didn't know what it was, I could see how you would panic. Otherwise, though, he's fine. We've been monitoring him for a while now." My vision is blurry, and I turn to glance around the room and find a small trio of solemn teenagers standing off to one side. I recognize them all as my two and Colin's one, Luke. I find Deb's eyes. She still looks anxious, which in turn makes me feel anxious. "Okay," Colin's voice is upbeat and impatient. He sounds like he's at a taping. "The nice medic says everything is fine. Lets all get some smiles on these faces before I'm forced to do stand-up – and you know how badly I suck at that." Deb is the first the break into a grin, but it's a nervous grin. The kids are murmuring skeptically amongst themselves. The Paramedics are pulling the monitors off of Colin, and I have to walk away from him to keep myself from crying. Instead, I go up to his master bathroom and do it. Closing the door and locking it, I lean against the mirrored tiles and let my eyes drain of their sorrows. God, I almost lost him. Even if I didn't, it feels like I did, and it was so unceremonious. What if I'd gotten there, and he'd been dead? After the revelation we've just had. I don't think I could have handled that well. I'm not handling this very well, and it was a false alarm. When I've dried my eyes and my nose is no longer pink, I head back down to where they are. Luckily, the paramedics have gone, and Deb is using the kids in the kitchen to help her with dinner while Colin is searching his CD collection for some universal music to play. When he turns, our eyes link, and he smiles. I can't help but to smile back. "What do you think the kids would hate less? Bing Crosby or Frank Sinatra?" I cringe as I approach him. "I dunno. Don't you have any Linkin Park or Avril Lavigne?" Colin scrunches his eyebrows. "Who're they?" Lowering my voice a notch, I stand very near to him, dangerously near. "I was so worried." "I know you were." He says in an equally low voice, pretending to read a CD cover and not enjoy the warmth of my closeness. "She jumped the gun, I guess." "I can understand why. She loves you." "And I love her." His eyes meet mine, and my heart feels close to breaking, but I keep a brave face. "And I love you." I whisper, tearing my eyes away and putting distance between us just as his son comes in and approaches me. "Hey Ryan, what's up?" I shrug, putting on a happy face for the kid. "Not much, how about yourself, lady killer?" He snorts a laugh, then blushes. "I'm cool. Mom told me to ask if you like green onions." I nod, clapping him on the shoulder. "I love green onions. What's she making?" He shrugs. "I dunno. Some Mexican thing." "Sounds good." I tell him as he saunters back towards the kitchen. When Colin and I are alone again, he sighs and comes to where I'm standing. "You know how I feel, Ryan." I nod. "Yeah. You want your cake and you want to eat it too." "You know how I feel …about you." He whispers so softly I can barely hear him, and then Deb comes in and he is instantly by her side, draping an arm around her shoulder while I look on and pretend to feel good nature towards them as a couple when I feel nothing but ill-will and contempt. Men really are bastards. At dinner, I am mostly silent and I ignore Colin's inquisitive glances in my direction. The kids chatter on, with a sort of sibling- like ease about music and movies and school and everything because they've all known each other since they were babies. They even occasionally rib one another, teasing each other but maintaining a certain fondness. The adults, on the other hand, are tense, mostly quiet. Deb isn't stupid, and so I'm sure she can tell how withdrawn and isolated I feel. She knows me and can sense when I'm not on the up and up. She also knows Colin, and she can tell when his happiness is forced. I feel like a fraud for even sitting here at her table, eating her food, bonding with her kid when not twenty-four hours ago, I was naked with Colin, bathed in his sweat, covered in his kisses, wrapped up in him, sheathed inside him. Standing abruptly, I nearly overturn my glass of sangria as all eyes turn to look startled up at me. "I'm sorry." I tell Deb. "I just remembered I have something to do. I…promised Pat I'd…uh…finish waxing her porche." Sam glares at me. "Mom has a Jag." I shrug. "Okay, then. Her Jag. I have to finish waxing her Jag." "That is bullshit." Mac says in a quiet voice, and I turn angry eyes on her. "Excuse me, young lady?" "You're just making excuses." She counters, her blue eyes like ice on mine. "Just because you have a problem doesn't mean you should spoil it for everyone else!" And with that, she gets up from the table and runs from the room in a huff. I'm startled dumb as the others exchange uncertain glances. Finally, Deb gets up from the table. "Maybe I should go after her." She says motherly, putting the plates in the sink and going in the direction of my temperamental daughter. Soon, Sam gets up and exits after Luke, all the while giving me strange glances and finally, Colin and I are alone again. He seems to be completely serene, siting there, sipping sangria from a martini glass. "Do you think the Brady Bunch went through this sort of thing?" I can't help but laugh nervously, and it comes so suddenly, it sounds like a hoarse bark. It's later when everything has settled, and my kids are pleading with me to let them stay the night. Mac has called a momentary truce with me, and Sam and Luke are trying to appeal to my overworked side. "You need a rest, Dad, that's brutally apparent." Luke nods. "Yeah, Ryan, you should let Mac and Sam stay over so you can sleep in and have some alone time. You look like you could use it." I can't help but smirk at them, the little misfits. Deb and Colin are okay with it and aside from being heartbroken and shaken and more than a little depressed, I shrug my consent. "Sure. Whatever." Luke, their spokesperson shakes my hand as if we've just struck some kind of deal, before the children disappear upstairs. Deb turns to me, looking sympathetic. "I could fix up the guest room, Ryan, if you'd like to stay too. It wouldn't be a bother." I don't dare meet Colin's intense stare – even though I can feel it burning a hole in me from across the room. "Nah. I think I'd better take them up on that rest." I'm giving her a hug and kissing her cheek, meeting Colin's eyes behind her back. He's trying to communicate with me through one of his looks, but I'm not up for games right now. I don't have the energy to decipher his signals. I just need to get home. Waving to them both, saying nothing to Colin, I head outside. Incidentally, when I get in to start my car, the stupid fine piece of American machinery won't even crank. Fuck. I'd rather stay out here all night than go in and request that guest bed. I don't even want to look at Colin. The thought of him being the way he is, compared with how he was last night is baffling. He was so pliant and so yielding to me, so in love with me. Now, he's acting as if nothing has changed between us, like we've never made love, like it was all a dream. Fuck. I could really use a comfortable bed. "It won't start." I'm explaining to Deb a few moments later. "I called Pat. She offered to come and pick me up, but I know she hates night driving..." Colin's wife lays an understanding hand on my arm, so sweet and tender, so accommodating. "No need to explain, Ryan. Christ, we're friends!" She punches my arm, smirking. "Anyway, I already fixed up the guestroom." I don't bother asking where Colin is, I simply saunter up to the second floor, stumble into the guestroom, falling onto the bed in a disheveled heap. What a day. Several hours later, I am deep in a dream state, terrified as I look down at an ashen Colin, pale and trembling, covered in sweat, white hair plastered to his head. "What's wrong, Colin?" My dream self is over him, stroking his cold face. "Colin, speak to me…" He is struggling, trying to speak, lids fluttering over dark eyes. "…my heart…" "What?" I'm desperate to help, but unsure how. "Colin, what is it? What about your heart?" He's shaking his head, seemingly tortured. My eyes are filling with helpless tears as he speaks in a strained whisper. "It's…breaking…" "Colin…" I hear myself gasp. "…Colin…. Colin…" The hand on my arm startles me awake, and I bolt up in bed, surprised and disgruntled. "Shh…I'm here." It's Colin, the real Colin, at my side, stroking my hair from my face. "Colin…I dreamed…I thought you were…" I close my eyes, still shaken up. "It was a nightmare. Everything's fine." His hands are warm on my face, and I feel so conflicted. "Everything isn't fine." I whisper. "Nothing is fine, Colin." His mouth meets mine in the dark, and I can't help myself. I'm kissing him back with a ferocity I can't seem to control. My tongue is in his mouth, my hand is cradling his head. I only stop when I feel him pushing me away. Our lips part with a smack. "I'm sorry." He whispers, gasping for air. "I can't…can't do this, Colin." I feel so weary. "We're not in the same place on this." "We exist in our own place, Ryan. Isn't that good enough?" I'm shaking my head. "No. Not nearly good enough. I'd leave her for you, Colin. I'd leave them all for you." There is a silence now, a pregnant silence. I can't see his face, but I can feel the tension. He can't return the sentiment. I feel suddenly so selfish, the horrible man whose capable of abandoning his family for one man, all that I've ever worked for. None of it matters. My kids would be fine. Pat would manage. Colin can't make the same sacrifice for me. I understand. "It's okay, Colin." I'm surprised by how resigned my voice sounds to my own ears. "I'll leave in the morning, and we can put this whole thing behind us." He exhales, softly. "I don't want to do that. Not after last night." His hand is on my cheek again, and our lips come together, this time less frantic, gentle. In spite of my turmoil, I am erect inside my jeans. My hand is splayed out on his chest, feeling the hair through his thin T-shirt. Experimentally, I let it drift left to where one of his nipples is distending slowly. As I kiss his neck, absently wondering if the door is locked, I hear him speaking in a quiet voice. "I'm not letting you go, Ryan…we'll figure…this out…" It is still dark outside when he finally leaves my room and goes padding back down the hallway to where he usually sleeps with his wife. I am still naked and tired from having had sex with him standing against the wall, fearful of squeaking mattresses. It is a blessing that neither of us is noisy, and I'm glad for the ache I feel within. Colin had been nearly brutal, as if trying to prove his passion for me. It'd been so good and we'd spent the better part of an hour cleaning away the evidence – although, not much had made it onto the floor. We had promised to have a serious discussion about the future because he isn't willing to stop what we have, and I don't want to meet him halfway. I want all or nothing; I feel we both deserve it. Around nine o'clock, I shower and brush my teeth, getting dressed haphazardly so I can phone the tow truck and wait for him outside. I really don't want to bump into Deb because I know it isn't fair to her. She doesn't deserve what's happening, but I can't help myself. I'm addicted to him. Of course, the first person I see when I poke my head out the door is Deb. "Morning, Ryan." I manage a quick smile. "Morning." "Sleep well?" I shrug one shoulder. "Pretty well, yeah." "I hope Colin didn't keep you up all night." My heart is in my throat, and my face begins to turn a pretty shade of crimson; I can feel it as it warms. "Beg pardon?" I try to sound casual. She snorts a laugh. "He's an avid sleepwalk, roams the hallways all night sometimes. Well…you already know how he is. I swear, though, it's the weirdest thing I've ever seen." I can't help but to laugh. That seriously felt like the big one for a second. Downstairs, the kids are fighting over sausage links and mounds and mounds of food that Colin obviously made while I was in bed, sleeping in like a lazy bastard. He meets my eyes over his mug of coffee, and I grin, trying to look inconspicuous as I reach through all those thin elbows and hands to get at a bacon strip. When I am able, I reach for the coffee mate and pour myself a cup before topping off Colin. Deb seems totally oblivious to our little nuances, and I wonder if maybe Colin doesn't have a point. Maybe it's better to just be happy with what we have. I could never really abandon my kids, after all. They could always come and live with me …and Colin… and Luke. "I'm taking these psycho kids to the electronics store." Deb announces. "The boys want a new game, and Mac wants a CD." She's beaming at them as she smoothes my daughter's way blond hair from her face. Mac isn't really looking at me, but when she does, she manages a small smile – which is good. I know we're going to have to talk later. Deb and the kids are already dressed, so promptly after breakfast she rounds them up to get in the car and Colin tosses me a quick glance, mischievous. His dimples are deep as he tries to pretend to be reading the sports section of the L.A. Times. It would be our first time alone in the house since we got here. It's funny, how many emotions the roar of an engine can conjure up. I'm all giddy and proud of myself for not having called the tow guy yet, and Colin seems to be sitting on a spring, ready to bound up and into my arms at any moment. And then it happens. He gets out of his seat and approaches me, looking suave and flirtatious and then our lips meet, mouths meshing, tongues dueling. I have an arm around his shoulder and one around his middle. He has a hand on my chest and the other in my hair. "Oh, Colin…" I'm murmuring as his teeth graze my neck. "I need you so badly." "I love you, Colin…so much…" "Oh, Ryan…" "Col…" "Anything you want…" He whispers, hand caressing my chest. Every nerve ending is aflame and I desperately need to feel his skin against mine. The air is charged with tension because I have no idea how much time we have, and I am floating on a cloud, never wanting to land. It doesn't feel like we just did it last night. It feels like I've been waiting an eternity. When I open my eyes, I'm staring into a round pair of hazel eyes that look like mirrored pools. I'm pushing Colin away, even though I suspect it's too late. A child should never have to find out this way. Colin turns and his eyes slip shut. Slow motion isn't just Hollywood movie magic. It's the sort of slowing of time that can be damaging in real life, even fatal. Neither of us can conjure up words. "Mom sent me back inside…for her purse…" Luke suddenly sounds like a five-year-old, not a teenager making the perilous passage towards adulthood. He is vulnerable and weak. His father's infidelity has made him regress. He is clutching the straps of his mom's bag, and his eyes don't know where to look. The articles of Deb's purse have spilled onto the floor. Of course he doesn't notice this because he is trembling, oblivious. I can still feel Colin's hands on me as I watch her lipstick roll past my shoe. "Luke…" Colin's voice is practically soundless. "…this…me and Ryan…" A tear streams down the boy's cheek. He is incapable of hearing this now, and Colin goes to him, wrapping his son in his arms. I never would have chosen this. I wish I could rewind it, edit it out, leave it on the cutting room floor like so many botched scenes from Whose Line, but it isn't going to happen. History has been written, and I am the villain. Dammit, why didn't we wait? Just a little longer… "I'm sorry." I'm whispering to no one in particular – or perhaps I'm just practicing for when the shit really hits the fan. It's coming, though. I can feel it very close. In another instant, Deb is coming through the threshold with my kids in tow. I'm suddenly really afraid. I don't know how they'll react. I only know that I really care for them and I really care for Colin. In a storybook setting, that would be enough. Deb is taking the scene in at a glance, unsure if the pieces match but fitting them together in her head, nonetheless. "Colin?" She inquires in a small voice. "What's going on?" Luke is silent, unwilling to be the harbinger of bad news. I can just look at him and see the trauma of the situation. He'd never have expected this in a million years. Colin faces his wife. "I'm sorry, Deb." She stares into his eyes then turns to me, and something clicks. "I knew it." Mac and Sam are standing nearby, and I can't read their faces as Sam asks, "Knew what?" Mac smiles sadly, blue orbs wiser than need be on a fourteen-year- old. "They're lovers." Sam reels on her, eyebrows scrunched. "Who's lovers?" She seems exasperated. "Dad and Colin, you oaf." Sam links eyes with me, seeking verification that this is certainly not the situation and when I find that I can barely meet his eyes, he swears and stalks from the room, angrily. I move to follow him, murmuring to Deb that I'm sorry. It seems to be the theme of the day. Outside, I find my son sitting on the edge of my car, brooding. I go and join him, sitting next to him. "Hey." I say, quietly. He doesn't respond, so I try a different approach. "Listen, Sam, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…expose you to this." He is angry, face practically beet red. I can almost see steam coming from his ears. Still, he isn't talking. "I don't know what to say." I'm shrugging. "I wish it wasn't true, but I really love Colin. I've loved him since before you were even born, and I can't make myself stop. It's a difficult thing to do – try not to love someone you really love." Mac joins us but keeps her distance. I can only imagine the conversation between Colin and his wife. I wave my daughter towards me, and she approaches, looking pale and shaken. I wonder if the realization of it all has finally hit her. "Are you going to divorce mom?" she asks, and Sam turns to me, eager to hear a response, eyebrows still scrunched in anger. Reluctantly, I nod. "Yeah. Probably." Sighing, Mac shoves her hands into her pockets. "Are you going to marry Colin?" Sam cringes. "That's disgusting!" He rages. "All of it is disgusting! I hate you!" He screams at me before taking off down the street. My stomach aches, thinking I've lost him forever, but all I can do is wait until he's ready to talk about it. Turning to Mac, I whisper in an uneven voice. "How did you know?" She sighs and shrugs. "It's the way you look at him. And the way he looks at you. I noticed it like two years ago, but maybe I wasn't ready to accept it. Then, I was watching you during a taping, and you did something – I can't remember what – but it seemed…" "Real?" Suddenly Deb is standing next to us with an arm draped over Luke's shoulder. He has a tearstained face, and he won't look at me, but he is here which means a lot. Deb's face is puffy also, but she is wearing a mask of bravery. "Colin is inside, brewing coffee. Ryan, you're going to call Pat, and we're all of us going to sit down and talk about this. It shouldn't be such a surprise, but it is. I'm not okay with it, but I'm dealing with it. Right now, it's the best I can do." She takes a heavy pause before adding. "I honestly thought you were stronger than that, Ryan, but maybe it got too big for you." I don't know what to say. I know she's being as understanding as she can, but I have the sinking suspicion that she's swallowing a newfound hatred. "It's Colin after all." I say in a cracked voice. She nods, a hint of resignation in her tone. "Yes. I suppose so." Weeks later, I am living in a modest Malibu home near a decent stretch of beach and a puppy that refuses to paper train. He is some kind of German Shepherd, Chow mix, fluffy and brown and postcard perfect. Incorrigible, actually. My daughter comes on the weekends to help me with him and basically be my only friend alive. And of course, there is Colin. After the morning Luke discovered us, Pat immediately filed for a divorce. I left her the house and the cars and anything else she wanted because it doesn't really matter to me. The only thing that matters are my kids. Sam and I are still not on the best of terms, but he visits me – and even laughs at my jokes on occasion. As for Deb and Luke, Colin had been trying to make things work, ever dedicated to them, ever true to his vows to her, but he comes to see me, and he cannot deny our chemistry and our love. When he visits, I make his coffee the way he likes it, turn on his favorite music, Adult Contemporary, and pull the blinds a bit because although he adores the outdoors, he is a bit sensitive to the bright sun. I can tell him everything about himself, just as he can do the same of me. We finish each other's sentences, and he can sense when I really need him – like now. The doorbell barely works, but I can hear his soft rapping on the frame, and I go to let him in. We kiss and embrace, and I close my eyes as his fingers slide through my hair. I like that I'm not lying to Pat or to my kids – even though he hasn't given himself completely over to me, I live with the hope that someday he will. "I came to tell you something." He says tonight with a slight grin, dimples deep. "Okay." I say, casual but uncertain. "What?" "I love you, and I want to live with you." My heart flutters in my chest, but I stay neutral. "You always say that." He snorts a laugh. "Yeah, but this time I mean it. I want to be with you Ryan. I told Deb this morning." My eyes slide shut involuntarily. "Oh God…Colin, please say you aren't joking." He takes me in his arms. "I'm not joking, Ryan. Not about this. I'm here to stay." And it is with those words in my head and in my heart and still reverberating in my ears that we begin the rest of our lives. Together. FIN