In Lieu of Us (AKA Off the Wagon)
Summary – during a little get together, Colin reflects while Ryan makes things difficult (thinly disguised PWP)
Rating – er…I dunno…R perhaps…
Pairing – Col/Ry (please, no pelting rocks)
Disclaimer – pur fic. Do not own. No profit made, no harm intended.


Over her head, I watch him as he enters the room. I can't help but to watch him; everyone knows this. Including him. Which is why he walks that way, with his long frame sort of moving fluidly against the current of space and time, swaying towards me with that certain Feng Shui energy flow. I am absently gaping at him, careful to keep my mouth closed so I don't appear to be openly lusting after him, which is invariably the case.

The funny thing is, I know he knows, but he is careful too. Careful not to let his eyes drift to where I am sitting, careful not to appear eager, careful not to let them know he loves me. The charades is only half the fun.

So, this is why I adore our little trips to L.A. Not only do I see Ryan Stiles, but also I get to pretend. Los Angeles is the home of make believe. It is where I've done some of my best work, my best improv and improv is fueled, I think, by inner turmoil and passion. These two emotions go hand in hand. Yep, I'm too old to be blushing like this, but he stands so close, his eyes dancing in the soft glow of party lighting, the amber green irises so close but playfully avoiding me. He's going to force me to make the first move, and I'm giddy with excitement. How can Deb not notice this?

"Hey Ryan." I sound stifled as he turns toward me, feigning surprise. He smirks, and I feel my ears burn. Thank God for the lighting here.

"Hey, Col." I stand and we embrace, a sort of half hug, manly, shoulder clasping thingy. It's perfunctory, but like Whose Line, it's merely an act. My wife seems ecstatic, and I wrap an arm loosely around her as she makes small talk with Ryan. I am secretly glad for the distraction she brings. Otherwise, I might be going insane with temptation. The temptation to wrap him in my arms and cling on long into the night.

When we are finally alone for two minutes (my wife has found a few colleagues to chat with), I turn to him and he exhales.

"I just heard about Green Screen."

I shrug. "No biggie."

He snorts. "I was kind of preparing myself for this. I am sorry, though."

"Now I have more time. The touring with Brad, etc…"

"You still enjoying that?"

I nod. "Um. Yeah. I have perpetual Jet Lag, but otherwise…"

"I miss you."

His words take me by surprise. "Ah…Ryan…"

"I had to say it." He says, looking plaintively at me.

"I miss you too."

When my wife comes back, Ryan has drifted away again, and she's speaking to me about some big Christmas benefit Gala I'm not entirely interested in attending. This is the part I hate, fooling myself into thinking I'm still fully committed to this whole `family' thing. I mean, granted, I love my wife and son, but something about being in the presence of Ryan Stiles, makes me want to walk out of my life. To make an awful analogy, they're like the gentle, beating of a heart, normal algorithms, steady and alive.

Ryan, on the other hand, is like that feeling you get in your chest after an especially invigorating workout, the strong, pulsing of your organs working hard and slightly out of sync, the sensation of diving naked into a freezing cold lagoon, the freedom, the uncertainty. I love him so much, I have to close my eyes against it.

When he returns, I notice the party is dwindling down, and my wife is getting ready to leave. We arrived in separate cars because she was taking a millenium to get ready. At first, this peeved me, but now I am glad for it. She'll want me to follow her directly home because she knows if I hang around, in all likelihood, she won't see me until morning. Then again, I don't get out often. Surely she'd understand if I hung around for a few hours, catching up with Ryan. After all, he's my best friend. At times, I think she's threatened by that.

"How long, Colin?" She has me in a corner, acting powerless and needy, as if she can't find her way home.

I'm shrugging. "I don't know. Maybe another two or three hours. Not long at all."

Her eyes are large and opaque in the dim archway, and I don't want to look too deep for fear of seeing some strange accusation. I don't want to have to answer for anything right now. She knows I have needs outside the realm of this marriage. I've never hid my deviations from her. What she might not know, however, is that I'm thinking of Ryan Stiles and wondering how easy it would be to run off to Mexico with him.

"I wanted to spend time with you." She says, quietly, fingering the lapel of my suit coat. My reserves are wearing thin. It's only a matter of time before she convinces me to simply come home and not be tempted by the tall man standing over by the bar, pretending not to notice us. I cast my eyes in his direction and imagine him on the stage at Improv All-stars, wearing a T-shirt and jeans and ball cap. He can be so unassuming. Then again, he can be like he is right now, perfect and glorious, handsome, sweet, uncertain, funny, appealing…my decision is made.

"I'll meet you back home in a few hours." I rush out the sentence, hoping (stupidly) that she won't actually register what I've just said. Then I bend and kiss her cheek, chastely. After a moment of silence, she brushes past me towards the exit. It only aches for a moment. Then, I am sitting at the bar next to Ryan and ordering a Vodka, neat.

In another hour or so, we're talking like old war heroes. We have so many memories to share and experiences to relate. Our stint on Whose Line was nothing short of paradise. The hours were decent, the cast and crew were fun and energetic and very on task. We had no actual work – just doing what we love in front of a live studio audience a few nights a week. It was during Whose Line that I realized my deep affection for Ryan. I'd begun to suspect he'd felt the same around the last few seasons in London. Then in L.A., there was no doubt in my mind. He began to be so open about it, even bringing his emotions in front of the camera. It still amazes me how much stuff actually made it to air, those subtle nuances, brief flirtatious glances, my arms around him during those awful games of Helping Hands. Him licking my fingers had driven me damn near insane, and his groping me and kissing me…well…lets just say, there'd been a lot of cold showers in those days. Now, however, we're like old teammates. I brush a hand nervously across the white hair on my head, suddenly resenting the fact that I'm not the guy from those days. My hair isn't dyed blond, my face isn't caked with stage make-up, the only ounce of energy I have is what I save for when I'm onstage with Brad. We both get tired, yeah, but I have at least twelve years on the guy. Feeling inferior, I glance over at Ryan, sighing.

"I told Deb I wouldn't stay long."

He turns to glance at me, beer bottle in hand, eyebrow raised. "What are you saying? You're not leaving?"

I shrug, making a face. "Maybe I should…I mean…" I'm not sure what else to say. All I know is that I feel suddenly very old and unattractive. I know Ryan isn't thinking about me with any sort of interest because he's been so platonic tonight, and I can understand why. I probably look like an exhausted soccer dad.

"Don't leave yet." He says, downing the last of his beer before turning to me. "I have to show you something."

Finishing my drink, I stand and follow him as he leads me through the party hall and down a deserted corridor. I am mildly suspicious, but don't say anything.

When we get to the lobby, I follow him into an elevator where we ride up mostly in silence to the tenth floor, before getting out. He produces a room key and slides the card into the slot before stepping into the cool dark room.

"You're going to love this." He says, digging through a suitcase and producing what looks like an unfinished script.

I take it from him and thumb through it, before glancing up. "What is it?"

He smirks. "Drew and I are developing another show. It's totally in the beginning stages, but…"

I chuckle in spite of myself. "He is relentless."

His grin is confident and broad. "I think we might be onto something. Of course you'd be involved in it. Drew's spoiled on you, now. He won't work without you."

"Oh yeah?" I murmur, offhandedly.

"Yeah." Ryan takes the script and tosses it onto a side table. "Well. Not only him. I won't work without you either."

I swallow, feeling the familiar glow of love well up inside me. We're nothing if not soul mates, Ryan and I, it's just a shame life requires so much of us. When he comes close to me, I suspect he'll do something fraternal – like give me the old, one-armed hug, but instead, he cups my face in his large hands (God know I've been in this position before) and brings his lips across mine.

Instinctively, I turn away from it, feeling the slight traces of his mouth on the corner of mine. I'm conflicted about what I want and what's right. I know I have a wife who is waiting for my return. I also have a son who is counting on me. Whose Line is over; there are no more excuses for this. I can't say that we've put in too many long hours together. I can't say that we've been spending too much time because I haven't actually seen Ryan in several months, but when you take away all those variables - make them invisible, you're left with only one. I actually love Ryan. I love him so hard it aches to be away from him. That clenching feeling I get ninety percent of the time is my body's way of responding to his absences in my life. Right now, I'm holding onto him, holding him at bay, clutching him, keeping my distance from him. It isn't confusion I'm dealing with – I know exactly what I want to do; it's an issue of morals.

"Dammit…" I mutter beneath my breath. "…Ryan, I can't…"

He smiles warmly. "We've done it before."

I'm nodding. "Yes. But that was before. I promised her it was over."

He makes a face. "Why did she let you stay behind?"

I shrug. "I made it seem like were just gonna kick around, have some beers, reminisce. Not wind up in a hotel room with erections and conflicted desires…"

Ryan laughs at me. "You have an erection?"

"Shit, you know I do."

After a pause, he bends forward and kisses my mouth, deeply. I allow this, against my better judgement, and then his tongue is in my mouth, and I know I've lost.

The next five minutes consist of me losing my shirt and pants, and re-familiarizing myself with Ryan's dark pink nipples.

The next ten minutes are spent groping, naked on the bed, snuggling close and dragging my tongue up along his Adam's apple while he grasps my buttocks in firm hands.

The next fifteen minutes include some seriously heavy petting and preparation for something even more serious. Ryan is mostly a pushy bottom, and I sometimes take on the role of impatient top, so we fit together perfectly on this night.

My fingers are sliding through his sweaty, golden waves as he kisses my skin, my shoulders, my neck. His eyes are hooded as he regards me.

"You're so beautiful, Colin…I missed this."

Instead of answering him, I step up my game a little so he is no longer able to speak. His hands are clawing my skin, and I wonder if I'll have to explain it later, before I remember that it won't matter by then. I will have been on the road with Brad long enough for it to have healed.

We're pushing each other faster and faster towards our simultaneous release (it always been amazing to me how we can usually come together), and Ryan is moaning, low in his throat, driving me insane. It feels so good inside him. I feel so complete. Bending my head, I kiss his lips, gently, resting my forehead against his as we begin to tremble together, signaling our release.

I take twenty minutes of time just to lie beside him in the cool darkness, enjoying the companionable silence and letting my hand drift down lazily onto his belly and back up again to rest against his chest. His skin is warm and sprinkled with golden bronze hairs here and there. He has his hand beneath my head, stroking the soft white hair near my temples and at the nape of my neck. When I finally get up to leave, it takes every fiber of my being to disentangle myself from him. I am dressing in silence, and his eyes are on me.

"I want to meet more often."

Without hesitating, I nod. "Okay."

"I'm serious, Colin."

Turning to meet his intense stare, I half-smile. "So am I."

Now, his face melts from worried to content. "I thought we'd passed this phase in our lives."

I button my shirt, absently. "We have."

"So, what do you call this?"

Sighing quietly, hating the anguish that always accompanies this, even while I am resigned to it. "I guess you'd call this, falling back off the wagon."

"Will she be angry?"

Instead of answering him directly, I come close to the bed and lean down to plant a kiss on his soft inviting mouth. "I love you, Ryan." I shrug. "I guess that's all that matters."

And later, still, as I'm driving home, feeling phantom traces of Ryan's fingertips on my skin, I know in my heart that it's true. Even if it means great sacrifice. Even in lieu of us.

FIN