Casting Call Author: LoveStoriesAtStopLights Word Count: 3,923 Summary: (Based around an episode of DCS) Ryan‘s circumstances make him a little more vulnerable than usual. (You don’t have to have seen the episode to get this. Actually, since I took some minor liberties, it might help if you didn’t.) Disclaimer: I don’t own any of this, and I’m certainly not making a buck from it Other Disclaimer: Let’s just say that Ry was never married and still lived in Sherman Oaks… A Tuesday in April, 1997, Burbank, CA, Warner Brothers Studios The crew of The Drew Carey Show had just adjourned from the table read for yet another fantastic script for season two called See Drew Run. Everybody was in reasonably high spirits… except for Dietrich Bader and Ryan Stiles. An informal buzz descended on the room as the actors, writers, and producers collected their coats, stretched, and began to make informal conversation with each other. “Hey Drew!” Ryan called. “When I asked for a stiffer part, this wasn’t what I had in mind!” Drew chuckled. “Yeah, yeah, Stiles. I’m sure you’ll get your revenge at the next taping of Whose Line.” “Oh, you bet your ass I will…I should never have let them get away with putting braces on my teeth for that other episode either.” Ryan grumbled. Three hours in a dentist’s chair had done a number on his back and Drew had called him “metal mouth” for a week. As the group of people exited the room and made their way to the studio’s parking lot, Dietrich clapped Ryan on the shoulder. “Don’t let it bug you. It’s just for Wednesday and Thursday.” “Man, why do they have to hit us with a truck?” Ryan griped. Dietrich shrugged “Because it’s funny.” The script called for the two characters to each have a broken leg and a broken arm – Ryan’s right and Dietrich’s left. The producers had requested that the two actors report to the props department at ten the next morning to, quote “get plastered”, and the coup de grace was that they had to keep the casts on for two days to accommodate filming. Ryan shoved his hands into his pockets and tried not to think about it. Colin was away again and Ryan missed him terribly. The thought of going home to an empty house really didn’t appeal to him. He turned to Dietrich. “You wanna go get a beer or something?” The next morning, Ryan rolled out of bed and went stumbling off looking for a glass of water and a pack of Alka-Seltzer. Dammit. Thirty-eight years old… I’m getting too old for this stuff. OK…mental note: never mix beer and scotch…and Thai food. Operating in the kind of exquisite fog that only comes with a first-class hangover, Ryan showered, dressed, and grabbed an English muffin on the way out the door. Only when he got into his Porsche and turned the key did he remember exactly what he had to do today. Oh, Jeez. Maybe I shouldn’t drive there. How will I get home? The Porsche was a stick shift. Hell, let the studio figure it out. If I’m not gonna drive for two days, I’m gonna enjoy it while I can. Not that driving in Burbank was any kind of picnic… Ryan arrived at the studio on time and made a beeline for the props department, where he was handed a bathrobe and shown to a dressing room. As he emerged, the props guy, whose name Ryan could never remember, waved him over to a grungy-looking work area with a tarp and a bucket each of water and plaster, and a pile of bandages. Ryan looked at the supplies and exhaled a long, slow breath. Remember, you’re being paid for this…. “So how ya doing today?” the props guy chatted amicably. “Let’s see…” he said, studying an invoice from the studio, “Right arm and leg…Are you right-handed?” “Uh-huh.” “Okay, I’ll give you a little wiggle room.” Two hours later Ryan lay on a tarp-covered couch in a waiting room, reading a magazine in his left hand and waiting for the plaster on his right arm and leg to dry. Already feeling the blood draining out of his left arm as he held the magazine aloft, he closed his eyes for a moment and tried to shift his body to a more comfortable position. The cast on his leg seemed surprisingly heavy and proved very difficult to maneuver. He waved the fingers on his right hand and thought Yeah. “Wiggle room” my fanny. Bet he’s getting back at me for not remembering his name. As the plaster dried, it became warm, making it feel as if everything was becoming more snug. Dietrich sat opposite flipping through his own magazine. Suddenly Dietrich started giggling. “What.” Ryan looked up. “We could’ve just gotten into a pub brawl last night and saved them all the trouble.” “I’ll take two days in this mess rather than six weeks, thank you.” Just then, Ryan’s cell rang. The props guy had helped them put on some sweat pants and T-shirts, and Ryan’s phone had been dropped into his right pants pocket. His first instinct was to just reach down with his right hand and grab it, but the hardening plaster covered his arm from knuckles to shoulder, and he couldn’t move. He quickly dropped his magazine and tried to stick his left hand in his right pocket…Got the phone! Yes!...Dropped it on the floor! Damn. Dietrich watched Ryan flailing around on the couch and tried not to laugh. “Get it, Ry! Get it!” He cheered. “A little help here?” Dietrich looked pointedly at his own circumstances and grinned. “Um…nope.” The phone stopped ringing. “Crap! That was Colin!” Ryan sat up with some difficulty and scooted around until his casted leg was sticking straight out in front of him. He leaned over at a seemingly impossible angle until his head was between his knees and looked around under the couch for his phone. “Wow, man,” said a stunned Dietrich, “at least you’re flexible!” “Only in certain circumstances.” Ryan grinned, holding up the phone and hit redial. “Hello?” “Hey Col. Sorry, I…uh…couldn’t get to the phone.” “No problem. You working today?” “Oh, yeah. I think we’re supposed to be done at about six tonight.” “Seven.” Interrupted Dietrich. “Sorry, Col, seven.” “Hi, Colin!” sang Dietrich, enjoying the fact that he was bothering Ryan. “Dietrich says “Hey”, Col.” Relayed Ryan, trying to stick his finger in his ear and failing miserably, only to conk himself in the head with his cast. He shot Dietrich a dirty look. The other man grinned quietly. “I was going to ask if you wanted to get together tonight, Ry.” “Absolutely! I didn’t know you were in town.” “Well,” Colin replied shyly, “it’s just for a week to do a bunch of Nabisco stuff.” “That’s fantastic, actually.” Beamed Ryan. “Hey, would you be able to pick me up at the studio tonight?” “Er…Yeah, I guess so. Why, is anything wrong?” Colin had genuine concern in his voice. Usually, they just met up at Ryan’s house. “Nothing really. I just…may have a little trouble driving later.” Dietrich was biting his fist trying not to laugh. Ryan mugged at him and mouthed you shut up! “Oh, uh, okay.” Colin obviously still didn’t understand what the matter could be, but he always went along with whatever Ryan needed. “See you at seven!” Ryan flipped his phone shut. Dietrich finally busted up. “So you’re not going to tell him?” Ryan chuckled. “I just wanna see the look on his face.” Eventually, the props guy came back to check on the two men, announced that they were “all set (pun intended)”, and helped them into a golf cart to drive over to the DCS set. He gave them each a cane and showed them how to hobble around without falling over. As soon as they arrived on the set, the rest of the cast and crew of the show laughed and hooted as Ryan and Dietrich limped and wobbled up to their places to do their bits. Predictably, there were delays and re-shoots and multiple takes, but both Ryan and Dietrich were able to sit back and relax while everyone else bustled around and kept asking if they were okay. During the lunch break, they were allowed to sit on the comfy couch on set and Drew himself brought their lunches. “You guys are troopers, man!” Drew gushed – ever in ‘nice guy’ mode. “Are you doing all right? Uncomfortable at all?” “I’ve gotta be honest with you, Drew,” Ryan mulled, chewing on a chicken leg from the commissary, “I’m not getting the writers anything for Christmas. Oh, my back!” Drew’s eyes bugged a little, and he fumbled around looking for a cushion or something for Ryan. “Well, Gee, I feel so bad about…..” Dietrich, sitting on Ryan’s left on the couch, grinned and shook his head at Drew, just as Ryan cracked up. “Don’t listen to him, Drew. We’re fine.” Drew goggled at Ryan who, still holding his chicken leg, put his hand under his chin and gave Drew puppy-dog eyes. “Would I lie to you?” he asked sweetly. “Here, Ry. Hold this a sec.” said Dietrich, plunging his fork into a baked potato. Ryan held the fork and grinned at Drew while Dietrich sawed away at the potato with the knife in his free hand. “Ah, perfect. Thank you.” “No sweat.” “Wow. What a pair of nutcakes.” Drew shook his head and walked off to eat his own lunch. The rest of the day went as well as possible, and both Dietrich and Ryan had fun messing with their co-workers. All they had to say to get a reaction was “OW!” At about six-thirty, filming wrapped for the day, and the fleet broke up with calls of “Good work, everybody!” and “See you tomorrow!” Upon request, there had been a push at filming the last of Ryan and Dietrich’s parts so they could go home sans plaster. They managed to get Dietrich’s part in the can, but unfortunately, Ryan still had another two scenes, so while Dietrich was back in props getting his casts removed, Ryan was sitting in a golf cart with Gus the security guard at the entrance to stage 11, waiting for Colin. Colin was running late, and Ryan sat smoking a cigarette and thinking of ways to make his friend freak out. Considering that he’d been sitting down for most of the day, he was surprisingly tired and sore. His left arm and leg felt strained from overuse, and his right shoulder was absolutely killing him from the added weight of the cast. Ryan looked down at the sling that held up his arm. Yeah, it looked stupid, but it was actually helping his shoulder a bit. He sighed and took another drag on his cigarette. There was a slight chill in the air. He was only half- wearing his jacket. Since he didn’t want to bother trying to cram his cast through the arm hole, the other half was only draped over his shoulder. Ryan shivered suddenly, and the jacket slid off his right side, leaving him cold. Dammit. He tried to reach around and pull the jacket back up, but it was an awkward angle and for the fiftieth time that day it seemed, he just couldn’t reach what he needed to. Without prompting, Gus wordlessly leaned over and lifted the jacket back up, carefully covering Ryan. ‘Thanks, Gus” Ryan said grudgingly. He wasn’t used to needing so much help. “Don’t mention it.” Colin’s silver BMW finally bounced into the backlot, and pulled up about fifty yards from the door. “There’s my ride, Gus. Thanks again.” “G’night Mr. Stiles”. In a practiced yet awkward move Ryan stood up and, leaning heavily on his cane, began to hobble toward the car. Inside the car, Colin leaned forward to look for Ryan. Instead of seeing the tall man striding gracefully toward him, he saw a thin figure, backlit from the studio’s floodlights, limping slowly, even painfully, from the shadows. No way. He squinted, and the loping figure became slightly more familiar…something seemed wrong… Colin threw the Beemer into park, leaped out and ran to Ryan, who – in the lack of good light – looked as if he’d been beaten to a bloody pulp. Colin felt all of the blood drain out of his face as worst-case scenarios quickly flashed through his mind. A car accident? A Fight? A fall? “Ry…Wha—What HAPPENED?!” Ryan, inwardly enjoying the concern, rolled his eyes nonchalantly. “Oh, Drew decided to have me run over by a truck.” He kept limping toward the car - more slowly than he really needed to. Colin fidgeted alongside, looking like he wanted to pick Ryan up and carry him. “Drew had you run over by a truck?!” “Well…Lewis.” “Lewis ran over you with a truck?!” “No, Drew had Lewis run over.” “What?!...Wait... Who’s Lewis?” “Me.” “Huh?” Ryan stopped walking and looked at Colin. Colin looked back, bewildered and worried and stared at Ryan’s casted hand sticking out of the sling under his jacket. “Col.” Colin looked up. “Yeah, Ry?” “It’s for the show.” Colin blinked. “You’re not hurt?” “No.” Ryan smiled sweetly down at his lover. “I’m fine. I promise. It’s just for the show. This time tomorrow, I’ll be bouncing off the walls as usual.” “Oh, thank God…Jeezus! …I thought you’d…Good heavens! You had me going for a second there!” “I know.” Ryan smirked. “You shoulda seen the look on your face.” Colin corked an eyebrow. “So I take it, THIS is the reason you need a ride?” “Yeah,” Ryan grunted, hefting his leg into the passenger seat. “I think it might be a little tough to shift like this.” Colin shook his head and smiled at his companion. “Well, I wanted to surprise you, so I picked up dinner from PF Chang’s.” Ryan looked at Colin with an exhausted, yet pleased face. “Got chopsticks?” “Oh yeah.” Replied Colin with an evil smirk, “And I’m not giving you a fork.” Ryan looked down at his immobilized right hand. “Col, you know I’m not a lefty, don’t you?” “You can’t scare me like that and not expect payback.” Colin grinned. “Besides, you may not be hurt, but you have to admit, you’re definitely at a disadvantage.” Ryan knew he was in for it. As they drove through the lights of Universal City, Ryan talked about the day’s events, and Colin listened intently. Not long after, they arrived at Ryan’s house and unloaded the car of take-out bags and, of course, Ryan himself. Colin took the bags into the kitchen and began unpacking the food, pulling out plates and pouring drinks. Ryan waddled into the living room and collapsed on the sofa, attempting to stretch out a bit. He flexed his neck and felt the bones pop at least six times in quick succession. Also, his back really was bothering him a bit by now, and he thought longingly of the bottle of Tylenol in the kitchen. He thought fleetingly of asking Colin to bring it, but reprimanded himself. There isn’t anything wrong with you. Don’t make Col wait on you hand and foot. He fumbled for his cane, managed to ungracefully lift himself into a standing position again, grunted, and hobbled into the kitchen. “I thought you were going to rest?” Colin asked, pouring sauce from a take-out container over a pile of rice. “I just wanted a Tylenol…Ooo, is that Ginger Chicken with broccoli?” “Yep. I think that after twenty years of take-out, I’d know what you like. Go and sit down. I’ll take care of you.” Ryan reluctantly surrendered and limped back into the living room. Moments later, Colin plunked a pate of delicious-looking food down on his right, and handed him a glass of water and two painkillers. He swallowed the pills while Colin rifled his collection of movies, deciding on Doctor Strangelove. Ryan looked at the food and sighed, knowing that he’d probably drop it if he tried to pick it up, much less to balance it on his lap. He had to wait for Colin to come and sit beside him. True to his word, Colin had not provided him with a fork, and Ryan looked pointedly at the chopsticks sticking out of the center of his dish, then at his left hand – as if trying to will some dexterity into it so he didn’t embarrass himself. At long last, Colin joined him – on his right side - and began munching on his own plate of food. “Whatsa matter? Not hungry?” Colin smirked, his “getting-back” gland in full production. “Ah, would you be kind enough to hand me my plate?” Colin smugly handed him the dish and Ryan sat with it in his left hand, unable to grab the chopsticks. “You’re mean, you know that?” Colin smiled a sweet yeah, but-you-totally-deserve-it grin and put his own plate down, finally nabbing Ryan’s chopsticks and feeding him his first bite of steaming food. Ryan sat back, raising his eyebrows almost to his hairline in appreciation. ‘Mmmm. Wow, that’s good.” An hour later, they were both stuffed full, and Colin’s head was on Ryan’s lap, resting against his casted thigh. Ryan’s left hand was resting comfortably on Colin’s head, occasionally playing with his hair or rubbing his neck. He was supposed to be watching the movie, but was more interested in his companion. Colin lay on his side watching the film, but he could feel Ryan’s eyes on him. Slowly and deliberately, Colin reached up and ran his hand along the rough plaster that covered Ryan’s knee. He traced little spirals, knowing full well that Ryan was watching and knowing it was driving him crazy. “Col,” Ryan finally whispered with the slightest ache in his voice, “I can’t feel that. Try the other leg.” Colin flipped over and looked directly at Ryan’s beautiful green eyes. “Oh, yeah? Try this.” He said, with a sparkle in his eye, and began to scratch the inside of Ryan’s cast with his fingernails. There was a slight, yet perceptible vibration that sent chills though Ryan’s entire body, producing an obvious bulge not too far from Colin’s hand. “Holy Shit!” Ryan exclaimed. Where did you learn to do that?” Colin smiled wickedly. “I broke my leg playing hockey when I was fifteen. Never forgot it.” “You Canadians and your hockey.” Ryan quipped, as Colin reached up and lovingly patted Ryan’s excitement. Ryan attempted to shift, but only succeeded in an ineffective wiggle. “You’re so cute when your’e essentially helpless.” Colin mused as he scooted up to kiss his lover on the lips and run his fingers through the tall man’s mass of curly blonde hair. Ryan wrapped his left arm around Colin as best he could, but it wasn’t enough for him. He wanted to hold him, to stroke his face and be able to return certain favors, but his arm, still in the sling, only hung heavily at his side, no matter how much he strained to move it. What an extraordinary sensation of pleasure and frustration! Colin knew exactly what Ryan was feeling and he reached down to caress Ryan’s flexing fingers. “You don’t have to worry about anything.” He breathed in Ryan’s ear as they rested their foreheads together. “I told you…I’ll take care of you.” They adjourned to the bedroom and Colin helped a very tired and sore Ryan into bed. As he untied Ryan’s shoe and slipped it off, Ryan sank back into the pillows and exhaled. “Ohhh. I might as well have just broken everything. I can’t believe how pooped I am.” “It’s just because you’re not used to the weight. Here, let me rub your shoulders.” “You don’t have to ask me twice.” “Hang on a second.” Colin said, disappearing from the room. Ryan craned his neck and looked around for his lover. After a few moments, Colin returned with every pillow in the house and began carefully placing them under Ryan’s arm and leg until he was satisfied with the position. “Better?” “Immensely.” Colin carefully slid onto the bed and sat cross-legged with his back against the headboard, so Ryan could rest his head in his lap. Slowly, he began to massage the tension from the broad shoulders. Ryan felt himself truly relax for the first time that day, and he soaked up the attention as if he were a dry sponge seeing water for the first time in ages. “Col?” “Yeah, Ry?” “Why are you so good to me?” “Because I love you.” That was all that needed to be said, and when Colin finished rubbing, he slid down in the sheets to wrap himself around Ryan’s middle, resting his head on his free shoulder and entwining their legs together. Gently, he stroked the wisps of blonde chest hair, making his way south. Ryan dreamily came to the realization that Colin actually had him completely pinned down. He smiled at his lover with half-lidded eyes. “Uh…should I be worried?” Colin arched his eyebrows and gave him a sweet look. “OH yeah.” Ryan had little choice but to lay back and enjoy the experience. Colin knew where and how to torture and tease, and soon had Ryan in the throes of ecstasy, despite – or perhaps because of - the fact that Ryan could barely move. He awoke the next morning to the familiar sound of his alarm clock, but with Colin still asleep on him, he was unable to reach over and slap the thing into quietness. Ryan was forced to lie there until Colin awoke and leaned over him to turn the alarm off. “Good morning, Gimpy.” Colin said with a sleepy grin. “Ha, ha.” Ryan yawned. “Can I have my other arm back? I kinda need it.” “Sure thing, Bubba.” Colin grinned, and allowed Ryan to have at least one working appendage back. Ryan sat up and looked around the bedroom. “Oh shoot. I need my cane. See it anywhere?” Colin found it under the bed, and Ryan hobbled off toward the bathroom. Colin lay back in the cool sheets and thought about last night….so vulnerable. So helpless…so… perfect. Ryan had always been the instigator in the relationship, and Colin was enjoying being in charge. Of course he had to take advantage of the situation again this morning, because it would be gone by tonight. When Ryan emerged from the bathroom, he found Colin looking at him seductively from between the sheets. “Wow, Col. Was I dreaming, or was last night….” “Incredible?” Finished Colin. “It certainly was.” “You’re amazing.” Ryan blushed, attempting to walk a little straighter. “I never thought I could feel like that.” “Yeah? “ Colin grinned. “You should let me drive more often. C’mere. Cuddle with me.” Ryan slid his 6’6 frame back into bed and was soon intertwined with Colin’s lips again, longing to hold him, and feeling only the scratch of Colin’s fingernails reverberating through the plaster and into his being. They arrived at the studio an hour late, and Colin walked with Ryan – who refused a golf cart this morning – to studio 11. They ducked behind the audience bleachers to say farewell as Colin stood on tiptoe to kiss Ryan goodbye for the day. “You’re amazing.” Ryan cooed in Colin’s ear. “You’re not so bad yourself, Ry.” Colin answered, looking into the deep pools of sea-green and remembering every sensual touch of the last few hours. “Break a leg.”