-Title: Foreplay -Author: Emily -Rating: NC-17 -Pairing: Ryan/Colin -Summary: Ryan and Colin have spent years in an extended game of foreplay. When will it all end? -Disclaimer: I know that this didn't really happen. I know it might be freaky, because I'm writing about real people. But it's just a fun little fantasy. I don't mean any harm. I'm writing about them 'cause I love them. :) Please don't sue me. You're not gonna get anything of any value from me anyway, unless you like My Little Ponies and tiger plushies. *g* Author's Notes: This is an exploration of the aftermath of the episode where Ryan licks Colin's head. *** "Bachelor Number Three—what would you consider to be foreplay?" -Kathy Greenwood, Whose Line Is It Anyway?, Episode #196 (US #7022) Doug: It's like, "Enough already!" It's like... what's the word? You know what word I'm looking for? You know what I mean? Kate: I don't know, uh, expectation? Anticipation? Excitement? Doug: Foreplay! -Doug Dorsey, Kate Moseley, The Cutting Edge, 1992. *** Foreplay. That's what Kathy called it. On national television, no less. And I suppose she's right. After all, she's been witness to several of these "moments" between Ryan and me. Our first kiss, our first grope... Okay, my first grope. I'm sure she knows. I'm sure she sees what we try so desperately to hide. Dammit. All those occasions I forced myself to flirt with her, and the whole time she just saw right through me. I feel cheap now. I admit, I never really thought of whatever was going on with Ryan and me as foreplay, but now that Kathy said it, I can't stop. All of the looks, the touches, the banter, the teasing, the chasing, the licking... It's been going on for years now, on stage and off. Almost since I've known him, our relationship has been filled with... well, I guess there's no other way to put it than foreplay. And for the record, my wife isn't cool with it. I'm not sure that I'm cool with it either, for that matter. I mean, would you be, if you were lusting after your best friend? Your happily married male best friend, who you'd known for over twenty years? I settle back on the couch in my trailer, thumbing my way through a comic book while I try my best to calm down. I'm stripped down to my shorts, because the California sun is absolutely brutal to a Canadian like me, and my air conditioner's on the fritz. But even Superman can't completely pull me into his universe, and I think I should probably just go home. Well, what passes for home while I'm here anyway. Really, it's a glorified motel room. This trailer is more of a home to me than anyplace else here in Los Angeles, as strange as that may sound. Instead I continue to sit on the couch, staring down at the comic book but not really reading it. All I can think about is Ryan's tongue sliding down my temple, and the waves of heat it sent tingling down my spine. How he'd looked at me afterwards, all proud of himself, even though I was the one who got him first—during "Scenes from a Hat". He stood beside me with his shoulders underneath my palms and his head bent low, trusting me. And when I licked him it was soft and absolutely exhilarating. I close my eyes briefly, calling up the scent of his shampoo—not flowery or fruity, but clean, like summer rain mixed with spice. For years now it's been on the tip of my tongue to ask him what kind of shampoo he uses, but I've never quite worked up the nerve. It's just... not something you ask, you know? I love to press my nose into the back of his neck when we're playing Helping Hands, all so I can smell his shampoo. It's a lot nicer than smelling rancid dog food or whatever other disgusting thing they give Ryan to eat, I can tell you that much. A hand closes on my arm, and I jump, dropping my comic book onto the floor. I turn my head and there's Ryan, kneeling next to me, all flirty green eyes and pirate smile. He's wearing a plaid button down shirt, and a pair of old jeans, and for a moment he takes my breath away. "Hey," he mutters, pressing his forehead to mine in greeting. "Hey," I reply, rubbing my cheek against his before pulling away. "I thought you left already." "Maybe I just wanted you to think that," he replies, smirking at me. "Oh? And why would you do that?" His smirk spreads into a grin, his eyebrows raised invitingly. I freeze, muscles tensed, because I know what's coming. He springs forward, and I leap off the couch, nearly turning it over in my frenzy to get away from him. He laughs and chases after me, the two of us circling around the couch several times. I duck behind the back of the couch, crouching so he can't see me. And I hear a grunt, feel the couch vibrate, and there he is, hunched over the back, beaming down at me. He wiggles his fingers in greeting, making me gasp and fly towards the kitchenette, putting the table between him and me. Giving me the illusion of safety, if nothing else. He shakes his head and saunters off the couch, taking his time, making me wonder. And then he darts towards me, arms held wide like he wants to catch me, but I won't let him. And we fly around the table, with Ryan pinching my butt, making me yelp and bat his hands away and run, run, run around and around and around... He slows, bringing his hands up to his head like he's getting dizzy, and I take the opportunity to break away, towards the tiny bedroom, my favorite thing about this particular trailer. Well, that and the kitchenette. I've been known to bake cookies or brownies and serve them to the cast and crew, from time to time. Once I even made an entire assortment of pies. I slam the door behind me, even though I know it won't do any good, and grab a pillow off the bed. It's small and cramped in here, with enough room for a full-sized bed and not much else, and I wonder what I'm doing, what I'm thinking, inviting him in here, with me... And when the door bursts open, I'm waiting for him, knees bent, pillow held over my head. He smiles when he catches sight of me, and I smack the pillow soundly across his chest, making him gape for a moment before he grabs me around the waist. He tackles me, and we fall backwards on the bed. Foreplay. That's all this is. It's him, straddling me, his warm breath washing against my face. It's me, wiggling around, heart pounding in my ears. It's his fingers, tickling my ribs. It's my laugh, echoing off the walls. It's us, rolling around on the bed, arms and legs tangling together as we tickle and tease each other until we're both breathless. He pins my arms above my head, eyes lighted with adoration. He scoots his body higher, so his head hovers above mine, and I twist, trying to get free, but he's stronger than me and he holds me easily. "What is that gonna do, huh?" I tease him. "You can't tickle me now either." "Maybe," he breathes, bending his head towards mine, "I don't want to tickle you." When I see his tongue poke out, I shiver and buck against him, because I know what he's planning. He threads his fingers through mine, and while I'm distracted by the contact he licks the side of my face. On stage, it had been a quick, harmless swipe of the tongue, but this time... This time he savors it, letting his tongue explore my skin, and I whimper, because I'm picturing him licking me like that everywhere and I want him to... I stop struggling, and he pulls back, clearly pleased with himself. His tongue darts out again, and he licks his lips. "Gotcha," he says, and he makes the mistake of loosening his grip on me. I pull my hands free and whack him several times on the shoulders, but he merely laughs, because he knows that it's just for show. He hits me back, and we wrestle around on the bed. His shirt is wrinkled, and his curls are sticking up in every direction. And when he starts tickling me, I laugh and tickle him back. My head is buzzing with joy, my stomach aches, and my fingers move up and down his torso. I know all of his most sensitive spots, after years of slow discovery. The only trouble is, he knows mine too, and he's using them to his advantage. He leans his forehead against me, growling while he watches me laugh and squirm underneath him. His hands slow, and I pause, still smiling while I attempt to catch my breath. He draws away, the mock snarl still on his lips, and the next thing I feel is warm, soft heat against my mouth. After a brief touch, he withdraws and hovers inches from me, his blinking eyes silently asking me if this is all right. One little taste is enough to get me hooked, just like I always knew it would be, and I nod once, my stomach twisting a little with guilt, but I push it down again when I look up into his hopeful face. He smiles, and I tilt my chin up, waiting. He doesn't disappoint me. My best friend—Ryan— is kissing me, and I close my eyes, giving myself over to every new feeling. He presses his upper lip in between my parted lips, sucking on my lower lip, and my hands weave into his hair, pulling him closer. Later my fingers will smell like Ryan's shampoo mixed with Ryan himself, and I'll sniff them over and over, committing the combined scent to memory. But that's later. Right now he's kissing me, and it's tentative and eager and I can tell he's trying to hold back, not wanting me to know how much he's wanted this, how long he's waited. His hair is silk between my fingers, and I trail one hand downwards, towards his back, stroking up and down. I clutch at his shirt, telling him that it's okay, that I want this too. I'm about to black out, it's so good, and I think to myself that it's the best kiss I've ever had in my life. I lick around the edges of his lips, letting him know that once again, I got him first. And he moans and opens himself to me, allowing me to explore his mouth with my tongue. And when he swipes his tongue against mine a bolt like lightning races right down to my groin and I sigh into his mouth, pressing myself up against him, letting my hand drift towards his ass and holding him there. And a whimper escapes from his throat that sounds like sex and wanting and maybe even needing... I can taste traces of the cigarette he had before the taping, but he mostly tastes minty, like Drew's Altoids, and I'd bet anything that he stole a tin of them from Drew's office before he came here. And I reluctantly remove my hand from his ass, running it along his front pockets until I feel the small, square bulge. I want to ask him to let me have some too, but I don't want to stop, don't want to break the kiss. He does it for me, pulling back, peppering me with tiny, tender kisses to ease the withdrawal pains. He's panting, his hair is a mess, and his eyes are dark, and all I can think is that I did that. I wrecked my best friend, like only I can, and I love it. I love him. He runs his fingers down my chest, down my stomach, and my muscles tense when he doesn't appear to be stopping. He squeezes my covered cock, making it jump. "Mmm," he murmurs, tracing the head with his fingers. "You liked that." I groan and blink at him, unable to answer because the heat is frying my brain, putting me into a daze. He rubs himself slowly, deliberately, against my leg, letting me feel his obvious erection, and for some reason this makes me even hotter. "I liked it too," he tells me, his lips curving into the most decadent smile I've ever seen. "Maybe," he muses, his face so close to mine that for a moment I think he's going to kiss me again, "I'll try the other head too." I gape at him for a moment while he grins at me, still stroking circles around my cock head through the fabric of my shorts. And then he licks his lips, leaving no mistake to what he's talking about. And when his words finally sink into my muddled brain, I laugh and spring off the bed, running towards the door. I look back over my shoulder as I turn the knob, and he's sitting up, watching me, amusement glinting in his eyes because he knows that it's time for another round. And he knows that he'll win, that I'll give in eventually. In the meantime, he has to catch me first. And it becomes more foreplay, him chasing me through the trailer, me dancing just out of reach. But Ryan's not the most patient guy in the world, and eventually he corners me and in a surprise move pulls down my shorts, exposing me. We've seen each other at our worst, but he's never actually seen me naked, and for a moment I want nothing more than to cover up my imperfect, pale skin. But he's watching me, an awed expression on his face, and it sounds stupid, maybe, but it makes me feel beautiful, wanted. My wife never looks at me that way, not even the first time she saw me like this, and the fact that Ryan, my best friend, wants me this much, thinks that much of me, is just... mind-blowing. He shakes his head, sighing as he bites his lip. His eyes meet mine, and he kneels before me, like I'm a god that he wants to worship. "Oh, Col," he whispers, reaching out to touch my cock, which is even harder than it was when he was kissing me. His hand closes around me, and he peels my foreskin back. He leans forward, hot breath tickling my sensitive skin, and when he licks the head my knees almost buckle, and I let out a strangled hiss. I hold out my hand, and he takes it, letting me help him up. And without even pausing to think about what I'm doing, what it means, I lead him back towards the bedroom. I close the door with trembling hands, and we ease onto the bed. For a moment we just lie there, neither of us sure what to say, what to do. "Hey, Col?" he asks, smirking at me. "Hmm?" "What comes to mind when I say Woodstock?" I groan and roll my eyes, shoving him playfully. He just blinks at me, waiting for my answer. "Snoopy's little bird friend," I say finally, even though I have a feeling that's not what he wanted to hear. He shakes his head, confirming my suspicions. "RFK assassination?" he tries. "Janis Joplin's death?" "Um... tragedy?" I say, although I know that isn't right either. I'm not sure that Woodstock constitutes a tragedy. "No." He sighs, blowing his hair off his forehead. "You were twelve, and I was ten in..." "Sixty nine?" I supply, and then I blush when I realize what I just said. He grins and pulls me forward. "Yeah," he murmurs, looking into my eyes. "You want to?" I can't speak, can't even open my mouth, so I squeeze his hand once and reach for the buttons on his shirt. He helps me, rushing through the bottom ones while I fumble with the top ones, and then he shrugs it off, revealing the tank top underneath. I pause to watch, approving of his lean tanned arms, the muscles of his chest and stomach clinging against thin white fabric. God, he's gorgeous. He has a million female fans, and he's always getting hit on when we go out. What does he see in me? I don't know, but he's rubbing my chest, tracing light circles around my nipples, and the wonder in his touch, in his eyes, leaves me feeling light-headed. He pulls his tank top off, and I stare at him like I've never seen a bare chest before. He's almost hairless, unlike me, and I admire his rosy nipples, his flat stomach. I want to lick the hollow of his bellybutton, want to taste every last inch of his golden skin, and I think I will. I roll over, until I'm on top and he's pinned underneath me. My erection rubs against the fabric of his jeans, soft and cool against my hot skin, and I feel his gasp. I kiss him, our mouths almost crashing together, and it hurts but it hurts good, like I'm filling this empty ache inside of me that was waiting, always waiting, for him... And I can't take it anymore, so my hands fumble towards the button of his fly, and I break our kiss, moving my lips in a line down his neck towards his throat. I nip at his collarbone, taste the salt and sweat pooling there, and my fingers succeed. I think I push his jeans down or maybe he helps me. I don't know, because I'm tonguing his nipples, and my ears are filled with the pleasured-tortured sounds he's making, and I'm holding onto his hips while he squirms. "Oh, Col," he whispers. "Oh, Colin...You're so...You're so... Col." I can feel him thrusting, almost straining, against me, his boxers tight across his cock, across mine, and his eyes are wild and filled with lust that I don't think I'll ever be able to tame. I take my hand and slide it through the flap in his shorts, jolts of heat searing me, making my cock pulse, pinpricks of pleasure shooting through me. It hits me that I am touching my best friend in his most intimate place, and it all feels so right that I don't even know why I fought it, why I denied myself this for so long. And he moans, pushing himself against my hand, allowing me to explore him. The next thing I know he's kissing me, hard and fierce and tasting me with his tongue. The peppermint from the Altoids burns, and my hand is still stroking inside his shorts, and when I cup his balls he grabs my ass and drives himself up against me and I sigh. I need those shorts gone, need to feel his skin against mine. He's obviously thinking the same thing, because he tugs them down himself. Our cocks brush together and I feel like I'm made of heat and ice mixed together, and every part of me is melting and freezing into every part of his. I break the kiss, because I want to see. I want to see what I've been feeling, and he doesn't disappointment me. He's so hard he's almost defying gravity, his cock pushed vertical against his navel, and I marvel at his size, his girth. I spread my fingers through the coarse honey-colored hair, like I'm petting him, and his eyes flutter closed. "Ryan," I mutter through a throat filled with sand, squeezing him. "You're beautiful." He growls at me and takes my hand, pulling me beside him. "It's time," he says, his voice coming out rough and sweet all at once. And I don't know how, but we figure it out. He gives me one last kiss, I cop one last feel, and we rearrange ourselves, lying on our sides. He grabs a pillow and flips over, parting my legs. My stomach flutters as he slides against me, lining our bodies up, and I'm confronted with his cock, the tip pushing against my chin. I realize I have no idea what the hell I'm doing here. I know I flirt around a lot onstage, but really, I haven't had a whole bunch of experience sexually. And never with a guy. I try to remember everything I like, on the rare occasions my wife's gone down on me over the years. She doesn't like the taste much, she told me once, and... I sigh, trying to push her from my mind. It's easier than I thought it would be, and that worries me. "You okay with this?" Ryan asks from below. I reach down, patting his shoulder. "I'm okay," I say. "Good," Ryan says, and when he grins up at me I know that I want to do this for him, want him to do this for me. I jump when his lips close around me. He's so damn good, knows just where to use his tongue, when to suck, how to hold me, and I wonder if he's ever done this before. I know he's slept around a lot. He used to brag about it back when we lived in Vancouver, when he was working the clubs, but I never... I never thought he... I guess it doesn't matter. For a moment I close my eyes, letting the excitement wash over me like waves. I can feel his cheek stubble, lightly scratching against my inner thighs, and his mouth is wet and tight and warm, making me want to sink inside and never come out, not even if I drown... And then I realize that I'm supposed to be doing the same to him. I blush as I crack open my eyes, staring down at his cock. I take it between my fingers, which feel large and awkward, but he stiffens and lets out a muffled groan, encouraging me. My fingers form into a fist, and he's licking my balls now, wetting me, sliding his hand up and down my shaft. I swipe the tip of my tongue against his head, tasting the salty bitterness on the slit, and he sighs, squeezing me, sucking one of my balls into his mouth. "Mmm," he says when I open my mouth, taking the head inside and giving it experimental licks on the ridge around the edge. "Yeah. Just like that, Col." And he tongues his way up my shaft, circling it, leaving trails of warmth that somehow seem to be connected to every part of my body. He puts me back in his mouth, and I almost lose it, because he pushes back my foreskin with his tongue while he almost swallows me whole, and it's unbelievable. I whimper around my mouthful of cock, and I feel the vibrations of his own grunts, rippling up and down my shaft, centering in the head. I get the feeling that he's teaching me, showing me what he likes, so I copy his movements, a little clumsily. I can't take him as deep as he takes me, but his shaft quickly slickens with saliva and I use one of my hands to hold onto the base, moving it up and down in time with my mouth. And for a while I'm lost in sensation. I'm not even aware of what I'm doing, what he's doing, I'm just kind of floating along, swept away by something I never even let myself dream. And all I can think is how damn good it feels, how it hasn't felt like this for me in years, this intense heat that makes me feel like I'm going to explode until I'm a million pieces of sky among the stars. How amazing it is that he knows everything I like, without even asking, without any experience. It's just... unreal, how deep our connection to each other is. Ryan's moans and sharp intakes of breath make me even hotter than what he's doing to me, and I realize he's close. His chest heaves and his licks and sucks on me grow erratic while he loses himself in his feelings, in what I'm doing to him. I don't mind though, because I want to make him come, want to taste him so bad I can almost imagine it, in my head... I fondle his balls, and then squeeze them, gently in the middle, and that makes him lose it. He relaxes his mouth around my cock, and lets out a strangled yell. "Colin... Oh, Col..." And I take as much of him as I can into me, waiting for it, knowing he's almost there. I lick his head one more time, and his hands clutch my head, holding me in place while he writhes inside me, murmuring incoherently. And I smile while he comes, liquid flowing down my throat. And all I can think to myself is that this is Ryan... I have part of him inside me, and I find that I love the idea. He pants for a minute, laying limp beside me, blinking at up me. I reach down my hand, push back his sweaty hair, and when he mouths, "Love you," I feel myself growing harder than I ever thought possible. He takes me in his mouth again, focusing all his attention on me. And when his finger slides down my crack, towards my opening, I squirm and press myself further into his throat. His finger pushes inside me, and he sucks me fiercely, teasing my foreskin again with his tongue, and I squeak, because I'm high, higher than I've ever been, and it feels like hot water, pulsing against my skin, leaving me weak and trembly in my legs. And then I'm up, and the water swirls until it's like a whirlpool centering in my cock, in his mouth, in his finger moving slightly back and forth inside me. And I think I'm yelling something, but I don't know what, something about Ryan and how I'm going to... how I think I'm going to... And I collapse, the words meaningless babble, emptying everything I have to give, letting it all flow out of me and into him. He straightens up and crawls beside me, wrapping his arms around me. He licks his lips, meeting my eyes. "You taste amazing," he says. My cheeks flood with warmth, and I duck my head, because no one's ever said that to me before. No one's ever... done that so willingly. "Really?" "Mmm hmm," he answers, and he reaches for me, kissing me, letting me see for myself. It's weird, tasting myself, knowing that he's tasting himself on me, but I kind of like it. It's sort of exciting, in a strange way, and even though I can't exactly say I taste amazing, I think he tastes pretty damn good. "See?" he says as he pulls away, eyes bright and teasing. I bury my head against his chest, letting my breathing slow. And for some reason my thoughts drift to my wife, waiting for me, back in Toronto. It hits me that I just cheated on her, after over ten years of marriage, after all the women who throw themselves at me 'cause I'm on television, and my heart feels torn. Because this thing with Ryan, it's been building for years, like I said. Years of innuendo, suggestions, flirty games never quite becoming real. Years of foreplay. And somewhere along the way I fell in love with him. "You all right?" he asks after a few silent minutes pass. He squeezes my shoulder, letting me know he's here. "Yeah, yeah..." I sigh into his chest. "It's just..." "You love her," Ryan says. I raise my head, because I feel like I owe it to him to at least be looking at him when I say, "Yeah." "I know," he says after a pause. "I love her, Col. You know that. But... I love you." "I love you too, Ry." "I mean, I love you... more," Ryan confesses, stroking my cheek. "Oh," I say, and I can't think of anything else to add. I never thought that Ryan... I mean, I knew he loved me, I'd known that for years, but I didn't know he loved me that much, and it makes my heart feel like it's being ripped away from me. Because all this time we've been dancing around it, never quite saying it, and to hear it coming from him now, to know that we could have this all the time, if only we dared... if only we dared to confess that we loved each other more than we'd ever love our wives... It just hurts, that's all. My eyes are heavy, and his breathing evens out. I think we're both about to drop off to sleep, in this too-small bed in my little trailer, when he says, "Col?" "Hmm?" "I meant what I said earlier," he says, and his voice is weighed down with sleep. "About the ring. I'd take it off, for you." I sigh, because I don't know how to answer that. He seems to understand, and his lips brush my forehead. "Just... think about it, okay?" he murmurs, eyes drifting shut. I trace his chest with my fingers, and watch him sleep. And the thing is, I don't have to think about it. Because I already know. The End Well, it wasn't totally fluffy at least. LOL. :) Emily :)